


A Stride of Luck

by bunnybunz



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Shits gonna hit the fan, Slow Burn, dave is hot and you can’t handle, dirk is hot and you also can’t handle, how can there be no smut with dirk, that yummy texan accent woh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23373565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnybunz/pseuds/bunnybunz
Summary: You find an unconscious Dave Strider in a desolate street and allow him to crash at your place, only to find out that he's come all the way from Texas to find his bro, Dirk Strider.What seems like an easy task soon evolves into something much more complicated when you finally locate Dirk, and realize three things.One, Dave is hot as fuck.Two, Dirk is also hot as fuck.Three, they have the same taste in girls.“i warned you about the striders, bro. i told you dog!”
Relationships: Dave Strider/Reader, Dave Strider/You, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider/You, Dirk Strider/Reader, dave strider /you/dirk strider, dave strider/reader/dirk strider
Comments: 105
Kudos: 395





	1. on the right night

You stepped out of the flashing club with your friends, the party behind you leaving stains of shadows on the floor that seemed to wobble and ripple whenever you took a step.

The sidewalk felt like water, and you were now jesus.  
You have successfully had way too much to drink.

Your friend seemed to think otherwise, yanking on your arm insistently and latching on like a leech that had been served their last, juicy, 10% alcohol content meal.  
"Come on! One more dance, that's all I'm asking for!" The cold breeze knocks some sobriety back into your jambled mind and brings about a killer headache. You choose to nurse your migraine instead of responding to her harp of bullcrap, but cant help cringing at the memory of your dancing.

“Shawna, I am absolutely wrecked right now. I don’t need to remember how many legs I tripped over while doing the one-man conga line.”

She laughs and pinches your cheek like a doting mother, but you don’t need a mother's lovin’ right now. You need some advil and some water, goddamnit.

“That was the best part! How could any guy resist those flailing arms? Tracy, tell her! They couldn’t look away, especially that super cute DJ!”  
She breaks out into a crazed giggle, swatting at you as you attempt and miserably fail to dodge her attacks.

Your other friend sighed, clearly more sober and a bit irked that you two had such low tolerance. You did feel a bit guilty, since every night out seemed to end like this. You were ever the party pooper who wanted to leave early, Shawna was always full of the party even if the party was over, and Tracy was the one who could never score a date because she was babysitting.

“Shawna, you smell like fucking alcohol. Get off of (y/n) before you vomit vodka juice all over her again.”

Just as she says that, Shawna reels her head forward and retches. Tracy moves with what you swear is the world's fastest reaction time, and grabs her to redirect her laser beam of vomit onto some poor guy’s lousy truck.

You moan, disgusted and relieved at the same time, and drag your hands down your face.

“Shawna, that’s someone’s goddamn car! Just because it looks like trash but it doesn’t mean you can just puke on it!”

She turns to you, brushing her vomit off her face with her sleeve. You grimace at her.

“It’s fine, they won’t notice.”

She was wrong.

“Besides,” She readies herself upright again, examining her work, “what are the odds we’ll ever meet the poor sod who drives this hunk of garbage? None! We’d be like, way out of their league anyway!”

She was wrong yet again. Twice as much, in fact. But you didn’t know that yet.

Tracy intervenes, stepping in front of the truck and obscuring your vision of it’s newly acquired stomach acid paintjob .

“Okay, I’m gonna call a ride home before toilet bowl princess retches again. You in?”

You watch her manicured fingers tap on the Ober app, and wonder about the tiny miracles in life that allow such ease of access to drivers earning less than two dollars an hour.

“Nah, I think im gonna stick to good the good ol’ bus. Besides, I live pretty far from you two.”

Tracy’s eyes flicker from her phone to you, assessing the amount of severity of impact the cheap booze had on you. She typed in Shawna and her’s address. Lucky them, they were housemates. You feel a twinge of jealousy, but it passes almost as soon as it comes

“Well if you say so. You better not scoop up a hot piece of man-meat only after we leave though.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. Your brain rattles like a maraca inside.

“After nearly getting puked on? I don’t think so, Tracy. I just want to save on some cash.”

She laughs, much to Shawna’s dismay. “Puke is so in nowadays. You’ll be a boy-magnet in no time if you chill by this vomit coated truck.”

“Ugh, no. Goodbye. This is where I leave, vomit coated truck and all.”

You wave goodbye to Tracy and almost feel bad for her when you see how completely smashed Shawna is, but you know she’ll manage somehow.

With that, you make your way down the street to the closest bus stop. A breeze blows by you and you pull your jacket a bit closer to your body, watching your breath paint clouds into the air in front of you.

The city was still bustling, though the air was muted with the drape of night over it’s head.  
You stand to admire the scene a bit more, adoring the way your city brimmed with life. Sweet yellow light glimmered through the thousands of windows lined against hundreds of buildings that made your home.

A deep and raspy cough startles you out of your stupor, and you scramble like a cat from water at the disturbance in the night air.

Your eyes dart about your surroundings, desperately trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. You locate a pair of legs in a dimly lit alley, strewn about lazily.

You approach slowly, eyes travelling up the rather long pair of legs, up a torso, then a drooped head with an eerily pale shade of hair.  
He looked not much older than you, though as he shivered he reminded you a bit of a lost child.

Your mind ran through the possibilities of how he ended up here, each thought including more drugs and illicit activity than the one before.

You tittered about nervously, wondering if it was truly a good idea to offer assistance to a complete stranger.  
He took a shuddering breath, and your heart leaped into your throat, reeling with both fear and sympathy. You took a deep breath and readied yourself, trying to sound like someone who would definitely NOT be jumped in this situation.

“HeyY-”

Fuck.

Your voice cracked pitifully albeit hilariously if it wasn’t for these circumstances. You were totally the person who would be jumped in this situation.

You cleared your throat and tried again.  
“Hey, are you alright? Why are you just sitting out here?”

He remained silent.

You weren’t sure if he hadn’t heard, or simply didn’t want to respond. You inched closer and saw he had a map laid in his limp hand, though it was for Rhode Island, and you were currently definitely not anywhere near there.  
Kneeling next to him, you could see that the map had a crudely drawn image of a green blob signed off by E.B., whatever that meant. It seemed as if someone pulled a radical prank on this dude, and he totally suckered himself into it.

You peered at him to assess his level of consciousness, which was unsurprisingly at zero percent.  
He was definitely unconscious, and also definitely extremely attractive. He was wearing a long red sleeved shirt with a disc graphic and jeans, which is to say, you’re surprised he isn't an extremely attractive, unconscious, iced-popsicle.  
You didn’t feel too good about ogling someone possibly dying of hypothermia, so you decided the next best thing to do was frisk his pockets.

What? You were just looking for ID or a phone to call someone with.

You recovered a phone shit out of battery, and a wallet with five cents and a picture of a gross looking puppet in it.

Luckily, there was also an ID.

You flipped it over in your hand and read “Dave Strider” on it, with a picture of the dude in front of you with shades in the DMV. The look of bewilderment from the lady who was taking his picture was reflected in his glasses. Her expression seemed to ask, 'what kind of asshole wears sunglasses at the DMV?'  
You shared her sentiment.

Sure enough, Dave’s shades were poking out of his jeans pocket. You guess not even douchebags can see with shades at nighttime.

You reach out and shake him. He is out cold, but only figuratively. He was burning up.

“Woahhhh okay.”  
It was now fever city central. His body was sizzling, and for a brief second you could almost swear you smelt heat and clockwork.

Fucking alcohol.

You threw a glance over your shoulder.  
The streets were empty, and echoed with the whistling of the progressively chillier breeze.  
It didn’t look like anyone was coming to get him, and if they were looking for him they had missed him, considering he was literally sitting in a gutter.  
He also didn’t seem like he belonged on the street. The combination of his clean clothing along with the creased map of Rhode Island and dead phone screamed “desperately lost.”

You massage your temples, suddenly desperately missing being tipsy all those thirty minutes ago. It didn’t feel right leaving him out here, especially with that fever blazing through him. What if he needed help?

You thought long and hard for a moment before your phone pinged and pulled you out of dreamland.

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:47PM--

CB: Are you home yet??  
SF: uhhhhh no not yet  
CB: Was the bus late?? Damn, I knew we should’ve let you crash the night. Sorry (y/n).  
SF: well  
SF: no  
SF: i didnt get to the bus yet  
CB: ?? ??  
SF: so theres this dude passed out on the sidewalk and ive kind of  
SF: just been staring at him  
SF: that actually sounds so much creepier than i intended  
SF: what I mean is  
SF: i looked at his wallet and id and I think hes lost  
CB: What the fuck?? Is wrong with you?? You found someone passed out and you pickpocketed him??  
SF: NO  
CB: ?? Then what happened?? Why were you digging through his shit??

Goddamnit Tracy was flipping out again. Stupid Tracy and her responsible self that made you and Shawna look like incompetent twiddling toddlers playing in their own shit.  
It made you kind of insecure.

You hear another ping, but this time it’s from Shawna, who was clearly still fucked up.

\-- SwwetieShawwna[SS] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:53PM--

SS: OMG GIRL U DID NPT!!  
SS: YOU DID NT DID NOT DUD NPTTT!  
SF: yes ur right, I probably didnt  
SF: i don’t know what tracy told you but no robberies happened  
SF: he was already knocked out when I saw him  
SS: OMG you’re TOTALLY gonna bring back a hittie wihout us to see DX  
SF: geezus fucking christ what are you talking about  
SS: I Wanna see hot guiys too OKAY???? OMG DDDX  
SS: I NEED that HOT DJ in my arms rite noppwww!! DXXX  
SS: mMMMM DIUD You see the way he was RUBBING THOSE RECORDS DXXX  
SS: Need me SOME OF THAT in my LIFE DDX

You don’t respond to Shawna because shes clearly delirious, but you still hear her pinging you after you close her chat. You turn back to Tracy’s chat, which is not much better than the shitshow with Shawna.

CB: ?? Then what happened?? Why were you digging through his shit??  
SF: i had to! i needed to see if i could call anyone on his cell to come get him  
SF: but theres no charge  
SF: plus if i robbed him he only had like a nickel  
SF: so whatever  
CB: A nickel??  
CB: You searched for his wallet for money?? (Y/n) are you absolutely kidding me right now! I cannot believe you. That is a clear violation of privacy!  
SF: he can keep his 5cents  
CB: You touched him right?? What if…  
SF: what  
CB: Oh, nevermind. It’s probably fine! But I was just wondering…  
SF: fuck you’re scaring me tracy  
CB: What if he has some kind of Sexually Transmitted Disease??  
SF: tracy you cant get stds from touching someone  
SF: that’s actually super insensitive of you to say  
SF: shame on you, for shame  
SF: what would your mother think of this  
SF: .  
SF: it’s not contractible through touch right?  
SF: tracy?

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:05AM—

You look at the mysterious Dave boy passed out on the floor, then back at your pesterlog with Tracy, and then at your hands, sweating nervously. Tracy was just being paranoid, you tell yourself, its probably fine.

Your brain screams that it is not fine, but it actually is.

Your phone has also stopped receiving messages from Shawna, who you assume Tracy logged off of pesterchum for to drag to bed. Much like a mother to her petulant child.

The night continues to descend upon you, and the occasional shuttering of a window reminds you of how late it is becoming and oh shit when does the bus stop running?

You check the schedule on your phone, and it looks like your last ride left about five minutes ago.  
It now dawns upon you that you should’ve just hitched a ride with Shawna and Tracy, but after remembering the texture of Shawna’s vomit sliding down the truck, you decide you don’t regret it that much.

Still, you’re left with no option but to call your own Ober ride. Luckily, there’s a driver only a few minutes away.  
Unluckily, you’re still trying to figure out how to haul this unconscious body into the car without giving off serious murderer vibes.

You think dragging his almost-carcass across the pavement and into the car isn’t the best thing to do, and instead throw his arm over your shoulder and heft him up from his slouched position, righting his stance successfully.

Just as you do this, the Ober driver pulls up in a big shiny sports car, black as ink and as smooth as a gang criminal named Spades Slick, whoever the hell that is. The rims are so well polished that you’re nearly blinded, even though it’s nighttime and theres no sun to reflect off of it.  
You ponder about fishing Dave’s sunglasses out of his pocket and donning them, but you realize that as effectively it will work in blocking out the beam of light, it will be just as effective in masking nearly everything else around you.

You pull Dave into one side of the car and triple check that he has everything you found him with. Busted phone and empty wallet? Check. Useless epic prank map? Doubly check. Obnoxious sunglasses? Triple whammied.

You shimmy into the seat beside him and close the door. The car smelt like a pack of brand new playing cards, but you assumed that was just the way expensive leather smelt.  
The driver is shrouded in shadows, and you can make out the brim of a really cool fedora on his head. He turns around and nods at you, and though he doesn’t say a word to you, you now know you are ten times cooler.

He turns around and the engine revs to life, and you sail back to your apartment.

When you arrive, you drag Dave out of the car and give a sheepish smile to the driver through the passenger window. You are suddenly struck with the memory of their puny pension, and dig into your pockets for a hefty tip, only to find a hefty wad of fucking nothing.  
You check the other pocket frantically, feeling the driver’s eyes on you, questioning. You feel something of substance and pull it out, thrusting your hand out in offering to the mysterious Ober man.

You slowly unfurl your fingers, and your heart drops to your stomach when you see that you only managed to scrape up two black licorice candies in the shape of dogs. You have no idea where they came from, or how they ended up in your pocket, but are ashamed of yourself regardless.

The shadowed man reaches out slowly, and you dispose of the candies in his hands unceremoniously. They click together and sound hard and unappetizing.  
He pulls back his hand and examines the licorices like you had just struck him the world’s both best and shadiest business deal. After a few more excruciating few seconds, he reaches up and tips his hat at you. Though he has said nothing, you now know you are in good hands.  
The window rolls back up and he veers down the sidewalk, then down the block until he becomes a speck in the darkness of the night.

You bring Dave upstairs, feeling the heat radiating off of his still trembling body.

Your apartment is furnished, but still mostly empty. There’s a TV, a sofa, a coffee table and a few pictures hanging on the wall. You live on your own due to a pest problem involving crows making nests in literally every crevice in the wall outside.

Dave is deposited onto the sofa and you take his temperature. 104.5 Fahrenheit.

You imagine having a barbecue on his head would be inappropriate, so you don’t even bother to make that joke.

Instead, you fetch a cold towel for his forehead and a cup of cold water. You do kind of feel bad that he’s shivering though, so you additionally add a plush blanket to his resting body.  
You take out his wallet, phone, sunglasses and hilarious map and set it on the coffee table so it’s accessible to him when he wakes.

Sighing, you slump into the side of the couch and check your pesterchum logs. It looks like Tracy has successfully put Shawna out, because she hasn’t messaged you since last time. You decide to update Tracy on the situation.

\-- SadFroggy [SF] began pestering ClickyBitchtracy [CB] at 1:12AM—

SF: so  
SF: not sure if ur awake still but  
SF: the guy is here  
SF: in my house  
SF: hes still knocked out and he has a pretty shitty fever  
SF: i don’t know if hes dangerous  
SF: (or has stds)  
SF: but i think everything is gonna be ok  
SF: get back to me when u can

\-- SadFroggy [SF] ceased pestering ClickyBitchtracy [CB] at 1:14AM--

The grime on your body from sweating anxiously is beginning to sit heavily on your skin, and you think it’s a good idea to take a shower now that everything has settled down.

You gather clean pajamas and enter the bathroom, making sure the door was locked five more times before you stepped out of your old clothes.

The steam of the shower consumed your bathroom like a cloud of serenity, freeing your mind of worldly worries and allowing thoughts to wander.  
Perhaps this wasn’t too bad after all? You had lived on your own here since you hadn’t been able to afford the place Shawna and Tracy were renting. Unfortunately, you ended up paying about the same price for the place plus its crow problems since no one had wanted to live in an apartment with a crow infestation.  
Things were tight, but you managed to make it work with some of the loans you took out for university. Still, things often got lonely here. Crows make a shit ton of noise, but can’t hold a conversation for the life of them, those self-centered fucks.

They also often left weird scraps of their findings outside your bedroom window, which was really fucking weird and made you feel like the leader of some kind of obscure avian cult.

You digress.

A part of you was relieved that you had company now, despite the company being a cataleptic dude you picked up off the side of the street while half sober.  
You turn the knob and shut the water, stepping out and drying yourself.

Would he freak out upon waking up here tomorrow? What if he called the police on you? He wouldn’t, right? You hadn’t even done anything to him. You even resisted taking his nickel. You were a saint!

What if he really had STDs?

You washed your hands a few more times for good measure.  
You were almost one hundred percent sure you were just being a fucking asshole now, but you didn’t want any of his gonorrhea on you. In fact, you didn’t want anybody’s gonorrhea on you. So washing your hands it was.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, Tracy had already pinged you back.  
You lay out one of your bedsheets on the floor and settled next to Dave, since you would probably need to be keeping an eye on him for the night.

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 1:40AM—

CB: You let him into your house?? Girl, what is going through your mind??  
CB: This is behavior typical of Shawna, but really?? You live on your own, (y/n), and you know this. What if you’re wrong, things won’t be okay??  
CB: Putting yourself in danger like this is horribly irresponsible. You need to get him out tomorrow as soon as he’s awake. Seriously.  
CB: And make sure you wash your hands!  
SF: woah woah hold up  
SF: yeah i washed my hands  
CB: Good!  
SF: dude you cant get stds through skin contact

You search it up just in case and are relieved to find your bluff is in fact valid.

SF: [has sent an attachment]  
SF: see, its fine  
SF: only a fucking idiot would believe that tracy  
CB: Only a fucking idiot would bring home a dead body and let it sleep on the couch  
SF: WOAAHH   
SF: he is NOT dead  
SF: yet  
SF: his fever is at 104  
CB: What the fuck?? He needs to go to the hospital  
SF: i think its going down. i put him under a thin blanket and gave him a cold towel  
CB: Okay. Well, I guess it’s good you decided to bring him back.  
CB: But you still need to be careful. Sleep with your room locked tonight, and barricade it.  
SF: yeah it was pretty cold out there tonight  
SF: im gonna stay next to him and check on him thru the night tho  
CB: Please don’t.  
SF: : P  
CB: I’m serious! Aren’t you scared something will happen to you??  
SF: not really. im looking at him right now and he just looks like some poor dude down on his luck who got lost and had a shitty as fuck night  
CB: If you’re going to resort to that, then I guess I can’t change your mind.  
SF: haha nope  
CB: Just shoot me or Shawna a text whenever you wake up. If I don’t get a message after 1pm I’m going to come over.  
SF: sure thing mom  
CB: God you’re such a pain in my ass.  
CB: Get some sleep.  
SF: oh my god stop worrying, ill be ok and ill message you tomorrow  
CB: You better!

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 2:29AM--

You stared at the pesterlog until your phone screen went dim. The entire livingroom was shrouded in darkness now, save for the light of the city pouring in through the window.

You could hear the cars passing before their headlights streaked like shooting stars across your ceiling.  
There were still distinct conversations from the world below seeping into your room, but they faded before they could make it to your ears.

You turn to look at the sleeping boy on your couch.

He lay directly in the dim light from the window. In the illumination of the moon and passing traffic, you would almost say he looked sad.  
You wondered what he was looking for tonight before you found him, and hoped you would be able to help him.

Another car passed, then another. Soon, you drifted off to sleep.


	2. crossing of paths

You woke up the next morning to the sound of birds singing their glorious song outside your window. The rays of sunlight filter through the trees and gently kiss your face. The morning is serene and sIKE.

Your mornings are never beautiful, not as long as you’re involved.

You never wake up on time without some kind of blaring alarm, which slipped your mind yesterday because you were eyeing up the Dave boy on your couch. But it was fine, since the crows outside your apartment never let you sleep past ten with their incessant cawing.  
You sit up from your burrito blanket on the floor, your back cracking like fireworks on the fourth of July without the pretty explosions.

A crow throws itself against your window like they do every morning, and you decide that today is not the fucking day. You lay down and close your eyes again.  
Just thirty more minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone. It was still early, and it was Saturday. You deserved this.

_‘THUMP’_

__…_ _

_‘THUMP’_

“hell yeah.”

What the fuck.

Your eyes snap open and you immediately throw the blankets off, springing to your feet.

Dave is awake, and you suddenly become extremely concerned with the fact that you didn’t brush your teeth before knocking out yesterday.

He didn’t look so innocuous now that he was conscious. His head is cocked slightly at the window, bemused with the birds throwing themselves at the pane of glass. A perfect smirk plays at his lips, and it somehow makes him look even hotter than before.  
You guessed that the cool bad boy look would suit him well in high school, but now it just made him a square unit of douche.  
That’s what you tell yourself, so you hate yourself for continuing to gawk.

His blonde hair was askew with sleep, and matted with traces of dried sweat. The clothes he wore were wrinkled, and he’s rolled up his sleeves a bit to air out. An arm is thrown up on the couch and he’s leaning heavily on the other, you can see his forearm muscles straining against the taut fabric, and oh god, oh shit when did your jaw drop like that

“H-hi.” You croak out. “Are you, uh, feeling better? You had a pretty shitty fever yesterday.”

Dave coughs a bit, deep and raspy, but gives you a thumbs up regardless. “I’m peachy.”

You notice he’s holding his phone in one of his hands. You’re not sure how you managed to miss it yesterday, but it’s the same kind of phone you have.

You get up and you think you catch his gaze following you.

“Hey, I noticed your phone was dead yesterday. I can give you a charger if you want?”

“That’d be cool.” He tries to turn on his phone a few more times, to no avail. “Not sure if she’s busted or outta juice, though.”  
You head towards your room. “Whatever it is, it’s worth a shot. Let’s hope it’s not broken, or you’re going to have one more problem to add to your plate.”

You hear Dave grunt and stretch as you step into your room. You scramble over your bed and grab the charger from its outlet, before a grating screech assaults your sleep sensitive eardrums.

“God fucking damn it, really? Now?”

You look over to the window and see that the crows have brought you a new assortment of half-eaten bagels, aluminum foil wrappers, and some kind of weird envelope.

You open the window and the crow squawks indignantly, as if to curse at you for taking so long. These little weirdoes were getting out of hand, and so are you. Since when did birds actively communicate?

You take the yellowed envelope from its beak and swat at it when it tries to peck you.

“Impatient as always! Just give me a second you silly fucking bird.”

You sweep your hand over your bookshelf and grab a can of half-eaten dried fruit, popping it open and offering it to the crow.  
It hops closer and retrieves a single dried mango slice before it takes off to embark on a great journey.

Just kidding. It lands a few feet away where its nest is, which is- surprise, surprise- still on the side of your building.

What? Feeding crows isn’t a good way to get rid of them?

You can’t hear common sense over how extremely fucking proud Steve Irwin would be of you.

Upon closer inspection of the envelope, you’re kind of disgusted.  
Rightfully so. There’s weird holes scattered about the paper in a shape suspiciously similar to a pointy little beak, and for whatever reason it’s a bit damp.  
The front of the envelope says it’s destination was a city in Texas and appalled, you take a moment to vow for the end of worldwide littering.  
Inside the envelope there’s a shittily drawn map of the city you currently reside in, along with a doodle that looked eerily similar to the one on Dave’s map.

“Haha, totally pranked you dude! Here’s the actual map. Told you im the king of pranksters!  
-E.B.”

King of Pranksters?  
Whatever this meant, you were lost. The crows always bring you objects with some kind of cryptic message to it. Except for that time they left moldy orange peels on the window. That was really fucking gross.

You head back out with the charger and envelope in hand to see Dave fiddling with his stuff on the table.

“Here’s the charger. There’s an outlet by the wall over there, but if you’re in a rush to use your phone, I’ll let you borrow my mine.”

He takes the charger and thanks you, but he doesn’t move to plug it in.

“So, how did I end up in this sweet lil’ apartment again?”

You’re not sure why he refers to your apartment as “sweet.” At its absolute best, it is “dreadfully bland,” as your dear friend Shawna had said at one point. All the walls are barren and there’s a strangely disproportionate amount of unoccupied space to furnished space.

“You knocked out on the street yesterday, and I found you on my way home. I brought you back here because you were burning up, even though it was freezing outside. I could’ve fried an egg on your head.”

Dave feels his own head to confirm, but doesn’t seem like he knows what he’s doing and drops his arm again.  
“That fuckin’ sucks. I suck. Sorry for all the trouble.”

When he speaks, you notice he has a hint of southern drawl. God, why was that making your hands clammy?

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” You gingerly place your tushie on the coffee table, mostly because you’ve never sat on it before and you were scared it would self-destruct under your weight.  
It creaks and whines and you leap back up. Furniture is way too expensive for you to be breaking because you decided to be a dumb fatass. No thanks.

Dave notices and shifts to make room for you on the couch, and you gratefully take the seat. Your back was killing you, but that’s what happens when you get drunk and sleep on the floor.  
At least it’s not the first time that’s happened. You’re a seasoned veteran.

“How’d you end up here? I saw your, uh…” You made a pointy gesture to the Rhode Island doodle on the table, “Map. Thing.”

Smooth.

Dave raised an eyebrow at you, but seemed otherwise amused. You hoped he couldn’t tell how your guts were stirring.

“The ‘map thing’ is the twisted creation of my jackass friend. He gave it to me when I asked for a map of this city. As you can tell, I got more lost up in this bitch than a politician kissing his own ass.”

He was a scientific phenomenon. How did his speech mirror exactly what he looked like he sounded like?

The corners of his lips pulled up into a wicked smirk when you missed a beat in responding, and you could almost smell his snark before you heard it.  
“Speechless? I’ve been honing my dope ass humor since I was out of the womb. It’s comedy central corner, bro.”

Oh my god. He was fucking despicable, but the way that his cheeks dimpled when he smirked was distracting you from that. It was like playing with fire.

You averted your gaze to turn on the television. “Uh, sure. But I’m more concerned with why you were unconscious in an alleyway. You didn’t get attacked, did you?”

Dave shook his head, “Nah, bro. No one can sneak up on a Strider. I was just feelin’ a bit down for the count, so I sat down to take a breather. Guess I knocked after that and you found me.”

“What were you looking for, though? Did you just move here?”

“Ya see, that’s kind of a weird story. I came here from Texas to look for my Bro, who said fuck all and left without saying anything to me. I didn’t even realize he wasn’t coming back until I found his note in the fridge.”

Didn’t he mean on the fridge? Whatever. You didn’t feel like asking, you thought the explanation might freak you out.

“I asked a friend to help me print a map of the city since my printer was jammed with felt. I got the map, but I’m guessing he pulled a radical fuckin’ prank on me, cause my dumb ass ended up stranded on Rhode fuckin’ Island. Far from Bro, bro.”

“So who’s E.B. ?”

He picked up the map, thumbing one of the folds in the paper. “E.B is my friend’s pesterchum name. We chat like a shit ton so sometimes he’s a smartass and signs off as that. I think there might’ve been somethin’ else in there, but a goddamn crow stole it outta my hands, the sneaky fucker. Why are there crows in Texas? Shouldn’t they be fucking off to places with parks and shit?”

Huh. A crow?  
You peer at the envelope in your hands, and offer it to Dave.

“Does this look familiar to you?”

“Ew. God. What the fuck is that?”

He takes the envelope with two fingers, and examines it with an expression of repulsion. “How the hell’d you get this? And what the fuck happened to it? You ran out of toilet paper in shitville?”

You stutter in protest, completely horrified that he would even think that.  
“Oh my fucking god no. Why would I wipe my ass with a map? Socks exist!”  
A moment passes and you realize he’s giving your socks the side eye.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” You massage your temples and you can feel the heat rolling off your face. You hope you’re not turning red. “Fuck, I’ll just shut up now.”

He slaps a heavy hand on your shoulder and you almost shit your pants and turn your couch into shitville.

“Dude. It’s totally fine. You gotta do what you gotta do.”

Your phone pings and interrupts the extremely embarrassing moment. For a second, you’re glad that Tracy is such a proactive bitch, but then you remember that you were supposed to text her at 1PM.

“Oh shit! Tracy-!”

You scramble for the phone and almost fall flat on your ass while you’re at it and Dave sees everything, but what the hell. Nothing is worse than an angry Tracy. 

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:40AM—

  
CB: (y/n)?? Are you awake yet??

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 11:41AM—

  
\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:04PM—

CB: Are you dead??  
CB: Remember to text me!

  
\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:06PM—

  
\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:45PM—

  
CB: Oh my god, are you actually dead??  
CB: I’m gonna come over.  
SF: NO IM FINE  
SF: IM SORRY I DIDNT REALIZE THE TIME  
CB: Omfg  
CB: Thank god.  
CB: I was worried to death. Shawna said you were just getting laid but I know you’re too much of a pussy for that on the first night.  
SF: that  
SF: was so mean  
SF: :’ (  
SF: i thought we were friends  
CB: We are. Friends are just honest to each other.  
SF: : (  
CB: Well? How is he?  
SF: he’s awake and he’s not a psychotic killer who wants to put my head on a plate. so i’d say things are going pretty damn well  
CB: Obviously. I was referring to his temperature, genius.  
SF: oh well exxcuuuuussse me. ill check now.

You’re about to put down your phone, but Shawna starts messaging you as well.

\-- SwwetieShawwna[SS] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 12:53PM--

SS: OOOOOOOOOOOH ;0  
SF: no, I know what that look means. and no.  
SS: HOw was he???  
SF: i think his fever is down now  
SF: i was about to check actually  
SS: NO SILLY! I meant how he good he is with his-

“What are you doing?”

“SHIT- Nothing! Nothing!”

You fumble to turn off your phone and steer it away from prying eyes, but it slips and you just barely catch it.  
Your heart is thundering in your chest and adrenaline is pumping through your veins. You must look like a cornered fucking animal because Dave backs up immediately, his hands in the air.

“Woah.”

You press your phone to your beating heart and drop your head, praying to god Dave didn’t see whatever the hell raunchy thing Shawna decided to ask.

“Oh my god. What the hell, dude! I almost pissed myself!”

Dave continues to keep his hands in the air, and he looks so startled you almost feel bad.

“My bad, bro. I just charged my phone and I wanted to see what had you blushing like that. Kinda thought I’d catch you with porn, which would be kinda hot in a scandalous way, but also gross.”

Why doesn’t he ever shut the fuck up. Does he never know when the fuck to shut the fuck up. You feel your face burning hotter by the millisecond.

“DAVE! No, I would not watch porn in my living room with a stranger. What kind of sick fuck do you take me for?”

“I mean, the TV is a bigger screen than a laptop. The bigger the better?”

Okay, that was enough. You were going to wash your face and brush your teeth to get away from this madness.

“Alright, I’m shutting down this conversation. I’m gonna go freshen up. I have a spare toothbrush if you want to use that, and the shower has stuff you can use for whatever the fuck.”

You reach over and grab the thermometer “And before I go, take this for me.”  
When he reaches up to take it from your hands, the way his fingers brush against yours feels way too intimate. Maybe you should take a cold shower too.

“101.3”  
He holds it out for you to see, and you take it from him. It was a lot better than yesterday, but still not fantastic.

“Okay, I’ll get you some fever meds later, but I think you need food for it. We can get some food after we clean, does that sound good?”

“Why though?”

You look at him, and he doesn’t falter when he meets your gaze. It's strangely solemn, like he was expecting bad news.

“Why what?” Did he not want to stay after all? Was it because you said you wiped your ass with socks?

“I can’t pay you back. I don’t have any cash on me.”

“Dude, I know. And I don't care.”

A look of confusion flashes across his face, and you change the topic hastily before you need to explain how you pawed through his whole ass wallet.

“Do you have a place to stay, though? You said you came from Texas, right?”

He doesn’t respond, but his lips purse at the question.

“I think it’s really sweet of you to come so far to look for your bro. He probably misses you a lot too, and I know what it's like to miss someone. It freaking sucks, like a part of you is missing." You feel stiff and awkward, and it doesn't help that his eyes are drilling a hole into your face. "But, yeah. You don't have to stay. I brought you here because you looked like you need help, but you don't owe me anything. You can leave whenever, I guess."

You paused, and you could see Dave's eyebrows drawing together to furrow. You weren't sure if he was debating your offer, or trying to figure out how to turn you down. 

Oh boy. You wondered if you sounded like you were trying to kick him out. "If you decide to stay, though, I’ll help! I don’t know how long it’ll take to find him, it could be today, or a month from now; but I want you to see him again. You've already come so far, and it shouldn't be for nothing.”

Dave's lips are slightly parted, and he looks like he wants to say something but changes his mind. "Man. I don't wanna be a bummy piece of shit though.

You roll your eyes, then gesture to the largely unoccupied apartment. "As long as no one wants to move in, bum and shit all you want. Just not on the carpet." 

He pauses, thinking. You find yourself searching his face for a clue on his thoughts, but he has such a straight face you could measure it with a ruler. You wonder if he really would leave, and there's a strange twisting feeling in your gut at the thought. You assume it's because of how grossly personal you just got, and suddenly and desperately want this moment to be over.

Luckily, Dave bites and sinks back into the couch. His gaze is diverted to the television, which was playing some weird Nicolas Cage movie with a filthy ass rabbit.

“Thanks. Seriously.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. One more second of that and you would've combusted . "No problem, Dave." You debated if this was a hug-moment, but decided fuck no it wasn't.

As you went to take your shower, you wonder what happened for Dave to be separated from his brother. He seemed like a good person, worrying about his little brother so much. You couldn't imagine the amount of trouble he had gone through just to get here, let alone travelling all the way from Texas .

After your shower, you set up a fresh towel and a new tooth brush for Dave. It was one of those fancy tooth brushes that vibrated music into your brain through your teeth. You were looking forward to using it, but you had the feeling Dave needed the pick-me-up more than you.

“Hey dude, stuff is ready when you are.”

You put down the fever medicine in front of him, and oh fucking Christ what the fuck

When Dave stood from the couch, your train of thought immediately derailed and crashed into a nursery full of crying babies.  
He was an unbelievably tall wall of lean muscle, and when he went into a stretch you could see a sliver of debauched skin by the waist of his dropping jeans.

Quick, stop staring you little freak!

“Oh. Wow.”

Did you just say that out loud?

Dave peers down at you, hair still dishelved as all hell. “What’sa matter?”

“I, uhh,” you dragged out your syllables while looking for an excuse. “I just realized, we have no clothes for you! After your shower! Which sucks!”

He stops stretching and returns to his slouched state, though he still loomed intimidatingly over you.

“Oh. Fuck. I just remembered I left my shit in the train.”

You allowed him to mourn the loss of his worldly possessions and turned to hide how much like a thirsty virgin you looked like.

“I have a friend who has an older brother. I think he’ll have some stuff that’ll fit you.”

“Oh man. That’d be the bomb diggity. Thanks, uh-?”

You whip back around so quickly it scares him and you wanna punch yourself in the head.

“Sorry. I’m (y/n). I completely forgot to introduce myself since we had such a busy morning.”

Dave holds out his fist for a fistbump. “It’s cool. Shit really hit the fan this morning. My name’s Dave Strider. I’m guessing you figured by now, though.”  
You reach out and meekly bump your small fist against his much larger one. It was weird; you didn’t think you had tiny baby hands until now. It kind of made you want to put on orange spraytan and a shitty toupee.

“Yeah, sorry. I had to take a look at your ID to find out who you were.” You glanced at your phone, which was lighting up with pesterlog notifications again. “I’m gonna head out and grab some groceries then pick up the clothes for you. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

“Sure thing, thanks.”

You duck into your bedroom to get changed, and by the time you’re grabbing your wallet Dave has already disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water can faintly be heard through the door.  
You head out to the local market, and message Shawna about the situation. Your face heats up when you see the remainder of the conversation, which you will not be looking at again.

\-- SadFroggy [SF] began pestering SwwetieShawwna[SS] at 2:32PM--

SF: shawna i need some assistance  
SS: yeeeeesss? : 3  
SF: mysterious stranger has no clean clothes, and i was wondering if your brother had some we could use  
SF: if its ok with him of course  
SS: LOL!! Of COURSE its okay, silly! I bet he’d LOOOVE to. ; ) ; )  
SF: thanks, i appreciate it  
SF: whats up with the winkies though  
SS: LOOOL! Don’t worry about it (y/n)! ;)))  
SF: uhhhhh, okay. where should I meet you then? should i come to your house?”  
SS: Tracy and I arent home now, but I’ll tell Adam and he’ll get the door for you! :DDD  
SS: Does that work for you? ; DD  
SF: yeah, that sounds good to me. i’m on my way to the get groceries also.  
SS: O:  
SF: ill be there in like 15 mins, thanks  
SS: < 3 ; )

\-- SadFroggy [SF] ceased pestering SwwetieShawwna[SS] at 2:37PM—

You decide to go to Shawna’s before you pick up groceries, and take the bus uptown.

You arrive after a relatively smooth ride, and knock on the door.  
It opens almost immediately, and you see a familiar face in a strange pose.

“Hey there, (y/n). Funny seeing you here.” Adam leans awkwardly against the doorframe and his arm trembles under his weight.

Always the comedian. “Yeah, I came here to pick up some stuff? I assume Shawna pestered you about it?”

Adam grinned and picked up two bags messily filled with clothes, thrusting it into your hands excitedly.  
“Yep, I gotcha!”

“Aw man, I know I can always count on you.” You punch him playfully, and it actually hurts like a bitch but he won’t show it.

“Well, just know that I’ll be there any time for you, (y/n). And I also-” You pick up the bags and turn to leave.

“Thanks, Adam. I owe you one!”

“Hold on, wait!”

You stop short and throw a glance over your shoulder, curious. “What’s up dude?”

He fiddles with his brown hair, just like Shawna’s, and his green eyes dart to and fro. “Uh, so I was wondering if you had a pesterchum? I know Shawna was screaming at Tracy about it yesterday, and I don’t know- I guess I was just thinking, if you didn’t mind, maybe you and I could-?”

You laugh and punch him again in the same fucking spot. He doesn’t know when you dropped the bags, and he also doesn’t know why you have so much fucking herculean strength. He tries not to cry, but a single, sparking tear escapes anyway.

“Aw, Adam you little sucker. Of course! I love chatting with people on pesterchum. What’s your handle?”

You and him exchange contact info, and you leave with the goods. The grocery run is pretty uneventful, save for when you go to pick up some drinks. You’re not sure what Dave likes to drink, but you’ve narrowed it down to getting a huge jug of whatever kind of juice.

You’re loitering in the juice isle when you see someone strikingly familiar out of the corner of your eye. You think you catch a glimpse of electric blonde hair and shades, but by the time you grab a jug of apple juice and go to checkout, he’s gone.

You ponder on the way back home if Dave had followed you out of the house, but when you unlock your apartment door, the hiss of the shower is still running. You mull on this weird coincidence for a bit longer, but you hear the water shut and Dave calls for you.

“(Y/n)? You back? I’m getting kinda shrivelly in here, and it ain’t lookin’ so hot.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry! I didn’t know you were waiting for me. I have the clothes here.”

He cracks the door open, and steam sneaks out of the bathroom along with his wiggling digits, searching for something to grab. You give him the bag, and he almost drops it.

“Woah, that’s a lot of loot.”

He retracts the bag back into the bathroom. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” There's the shuffling of clothes, and you try not to listen because you've achieved your daily creepy bitch quota for the day.

“Hey, Dave.” You cross your arms and lean on the wall next to the door.

“What’s up?”

“You didn’t leave the apartment while I was out, did you?”

“Nah, dude. I was in here getting’ all moist and soapy.”

What an absolutely horrible and vivid way of describing it. "Ugh. Dude. Please, say no more."

Maybe you were seeing things then. Or maybe more people liked to wear shades indoors than you thought. It couldn’t have been Dave’s little brother, the guy you saw seemed pretty tall, maybe even moreso than Dave. Oh well, you'll do some digging around later tonight. You knew there were a few grade schools in the area, so you'd have to start there.

You shrug it off, and go to unpack the groceries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey you guys! just wanted to thank you for staying for chapter two! usually i write a lot more slowly, but this quarantine really got me feeling a certain way :// but thats good! that means theres gonna be more striders hanging around soon ; )


	3. the flip side

Dave never took that goddamn toothbrush out of his mouth. Ever.

He would watch the television with it in his mouth, while using his phone, before he went to bed, and you were pretty sure he kept it in his mouth while he showered, too. You’d dare to say he probably had teeth so clean, ten out of ten dentists would recommend his regimen, as opposed to the usual nine out of ten.

You’re currently sitting next to him on the couch, your laptop pulled up on your lap while the second Fast and Furious movie played on the television. The explosions were nearly frequent, but not as constant as the Rock’s gruff voice saying something undoubtedly super cool and epic. You weren’t really paying attention, since you were focused more on the laptop screen in front of you.

Dave sat next to you, eyes glued to the television and curled up under the throw blanket. The toothbrush buzzed distinctly in his mouth, and you didn’t have to be an expert to know he was probably destroying his gums with the constant brushing.

“Dude. Your gums are _so_ going to be fried after this.”

Dave took the toothbrush out of his mouth, and you can hear the distinct tune he programmed into it buzzing into the air. “That’s really funny, because I _so_ don’t remember asking.” He popped it back in his mouth, and you rolled your eyes.

Dave had been here for almost half a week now, and you realized he was a lot more of a chatterbox than you initially thought. Even though it was great he liked to converse, nearly all of the things he said would drive you up the goddamn wall. He was a sassy little shit, and had the perfect response to nearly any situation. It was hilarious, but sometimes you just wanted to reach over and pinch his lips shut and go SHHHHHHHH.

Of course, you never did. You were getting more used to his snark and charming face, but you still remained a bit jittery. You blamed it mostly on the fact that you were excited to finally have a housemate, since you’ve been daydreaming about it since the day you moved in. Besides, he was chill, talkative, and clean. What more could you ask for?

Just as you thought this, he tossed a used tissue covered in Dorito™ powder onto the table and missed. It collected with the other ten or so crusty tissues that littered the floor, and you grimaced.

Okay, fine. He was kind of a slob.

“You’re turning this place into a dump, asshole.”

Dave grunted and picked up the tissues with his toes while watching The Rock blast through what had to be the fifth shitty plaster wall today. “Sorry. I’ll clean it after this part.”

You sighed and turned back to your laptop screen, scanning the list of local public schools in the area. Dave had messaged his brother after he got his phone fired up again, but there hadn’t been a response since then. You were worried for him, but he assured you that Bro was pretty shitty with answering pesterchum even before he had left. Unfortunately Bro hadn’t told Dave of his whereabouts before he left, so this was basically a guessing game.

The only choice you had was scouring the internet for hints, or waiting it out. All Dave had was his phone, so all of the big-boy googling was up to you. Luckily for you, Dave didn’t seem too caught up in finding Bro at the moment, which made you wonder if he was secretly sad when you weren’t in the same room as him.

You had caught him staring absently at his phone a few times before, waiting for a message. You hadn’t bothered to ask him why. You had the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t tell you the entire truth.

“You said Bro had blonde hair and a ‘shitty white shirt?’” You asked with a raised eyebrow. You wondered if Dave had bullied Bro a bit too much and, in a fit of rebellious teenage mirth, Bro had packed it up and left.

“Yup.” Dave said, the explosions on the screen reflecting off of his shades. “He wears that dorky thing all the time. It makes him look like such a dumb musclehead.”

Maybe it ran in the family.

“Uh huh. Have you ever thought that maybe he left because you put your foot in your mouth one time too many?”

“Pff. No. Dude’s built like a tank. Nothing gets to him.”

You hum, unconvinced and click on a local high school’s page. Pictures of kids on their first day of school filled your screen, and you went through the meticulous process of picking them out and matching their faces to their names in the school roster.

About ten schools later, your eyes burned and the sun had set. No one you had found matched your criteria of being Bro, and your day had dwindled away into nothing. Dave still had that stupid little toothbrush in his mouth, and The Rock prevailed in dramatically jumping from a skyscraper to a helicopter for the trillionth time, which was beginning to annoy the crap out of you.

How many Fast and Furious movies were there? You’d been here all day!

“Dave, temp?”

He leans forward and grabs the thermometer, sticking it his mouth and watching as numbers on the screen fluctuates. He pops it out, and you’re relieved to see he’s back down to an acceptable temperature.

“Oh, thank goodness. Congrats, you’re no longer a human frying pan. Welcome back to miserable normalcy.”

Dave pretends to pop a tube of confetti, though the sound effects he makes are sloppy because of the buzzing of the brush.

“Hoorah, Dave Strider is in town, and he’s ready to par-tay.”

You set your laptop to the side and pluck the brush out of his mouth, kind of grossed out by the string of saliva connected to it.

“Oh, man. That’s fucking disgusting.” You toss the toothbrush into one of the empty cups, and arch your back in a pleasant stretch. “Why are you so glued to that thing? It’s like a pacifier for you.”

Dave allows his gaze to diverge from the toothbrush on the table, and he licks his teeth making little squeaky noises.

“I downloaded one of Bro’s mixes on there, his music is always at least a little good, you feel?”

It sounded to you like Dave just missed Bro a lot, but you didn’t feel like calling him out on his genuine, sappy ass feelings right now, so you let him roll with it.

“Sure, got it. I’m gonna go whip up something for dinner. Is there anything in particular you want to feast on?”

“Nah, I’ll eat anything. I’ll help you, though.”

“Oh, wow. Dave Strider? Getting up from the couch? How many more miracles will we see here today, folks?”

“Maybe one more, if I don’t gag on your food.”

You scoff and let him have the last word. He follows your lead into the kitchen, which was also conveniently and grossly mashed with your dining room.

Your phone pings from your back pocket, and you scoop it up.

\-- SwwetieShawwna[SS] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 8:45PM—

SS: Heeey!! : DD  
SF: hey, whats up shawna  
SS: Nothing much, but me and tracy were thinking of ordering out!!  
SS: I wanted 2 ask if u wanna jooooin us?! C :  
SF: hmmmmm delicious chinese takeout, or cooking pasta again in my house?? how will I ever choose between such a difficult pair?  
SF: oh I know, ill use my noggin. chinese food please.  
SS: :DDDDD YAAAAAAY  
SS: When will you get here? :DD

Oh, snap. You look up, and Dave is pulling two plates out of the cabinets after having spent five minutes looking through the dishwasher for cups, which were all used and in your room.

Oops. You had forgotten that a certain Mr. Strider was waiting for a meal too.

SF: uhhhh actually I dont know if i can come anymore.  
SS: WHAAAAT >: CCCC WHY!!!!!  
SF: yeah, sorry. I forgot that dave is here, i don’t wanna ruin girls night by bringing a guy  
SF: damn. there goes my general tso’s chickiee.  
SS: NOOO WAIT  
SF: ?  
SS: BRING HIM!!!  
SF: what no, he just recovered from being sick. im not dragging him across town to eat chinese takeout.  
SS: BUUUUUT  
SS: I wanna SEE him!!!  
SF: girl that’s a very high order yaknow  
SF: i think I’ve had my fill of dragging around sick guys in Obers.  
SS: >:////  
SS: FINE! We’ll come to you then!!!! :DDD  
SF: wait, what?

\-- SwwetieShawwna[SS] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 8:57PM—

What the hell? Were Tracy and Shawna really coming just to eat with you? You felt bad for whatever havoc was definitely being wrecked at their apartment, but you were also kind of excited to see your pals again. The last time you guys had eaten dinner together, Shawna had gone through a pretty shitty breakup, and you had decided to party the sad out of her.

Now that you thought about it, it was saddening to see that your schedules were too packed to see each other outside the occasional weekend. After starting University, things had gotten pretty time constricting, and truth be told you missed their company.

\-- TurntechGodhead [TG] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 9:01PM—

TG: yo  
TG: are u ok  
TG: youve been staring at your phone for five minutes

Oh shit. You look up from your phone and give Dave an awkward smile.

“Haha, sorry. I was just a bit lost in thought.”

Dave hummed, his lips forming an adorable pout as he compared two boxes pasta boxes in his hands.

“Rigatoni, or Penne? Rigatoni, or Penne?” He raised the boxes as he addressed them, his eyebrows wiggling.

“None, and stop moving your eyebrows like that. They look like seizing worms.” You pressed the boxes down, and he lowered them onto the table. From behind his shades, giving you a questioning look.

“No pasta? There’s nothing else to eat though, unless…”He articulates the last word carefully, dragging it out intentionally.

He leaned against the counter, head tilting towards you. His glasses slide down his nosebridge slightly, and you can see a tease of his blond lashes.  
You had never seen the Strider awake without his glasses before, and now the close glimpse of them had you wondering. You find your eyes wandering over his chiseled face and wry smile, trying hard to place just how much more tempting he could get.

You feel a blush crawling up your neck, but he stops it short.

“…Unless there’s some kind of quality, Michelin star, microwaveable meal you’ve been smuggling in under my nose. Because stouffers is great too.”

While you tried to recover from the emotional whiplash and wrestled with yourself to get your heart into check, Dave notices your lack of response with the quirk of an eyebrow.

“You good, bud?”

“Yep, peachy.”

You distract yourself with placing the pasta back into the shelves.

“My friends are coming over, and we’re getting takeout. I hope you weren’t looking forward to that ‘microwaveable meal’ too much. And last time I checked, Stouffer’s was blue ribbon at best.”

He clicks his tongue and grabs the other box on the table.

“Have to disagree with you there, (y/n).” He slides the pasta on the shelf and the back of his hand brushes against yours, and you feel like you’ve been burned.

You jerk your hand back and slip out from the tight spot he was crowding you into, heart pounding.

Dave chuckles, and just like that, you know that weird interaction was only out of the norm for you. You’re still trying to wrap your head around it when you get another message from Tracy.

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] began pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 9:17PM—

CB: Congrats on riling Shawna up.  
CB: What did you tell her, and why are we going to your place?  
SF: im really sorry! i mentioned that dave was here and she wanted to come over like stat.  
CB: Oh, that’s what it was. Well, we’re a few minutes away and we have two orders of General Tso’s for you and David.  
SF: **dave  
CB: Sorry. A lot of unmemorable names here.  
SF: woooow, snarky. leave the attitude at the door pleassee  
CB: Better start heading down now then.

\-- ClickyBitchtracy [CB] ceased pestering SadFroggy [SF] at 9:20PM—

You throw on a jacket and tell Dave you’re going to get the door. He’s sprawled himself out on the couch, his legs dangling over the armrests. You see a thumbs up peeking over his knees right before you close the door.

Shawna basically sprints past the lobby and up the stairs when you open the main door. The door just barely misses giving you a broken nose, and Tracy looks completely unphased.

You eye the crack the door left in the paint. “Hey Tracy, what’s been up with you?”

She grumbles, and pinches her nosebridge. The bag of food hangs heavily in her hands, and you take it from her, thanking her for her brave service.

“Shawna has been waiting to see Dave for a week. A whole week! Do you know how hard it was to get her under control once you gave her the permission to come over here?”

“Yikes. Sorry, Tracy. But to be honest, I don’t think I ever said yes to her. Plus, it’s only been a few days.”

She blows hair out of her face and sighs, defeated. “It felt a lot longer than that for me. As if that isn’t bad enough, Adam’s been talking about you all week too.”

Huh. He has? You haven’t spoken to him since you saw him on Saturday.  
“Weeeeird.”

You head up to your apartment and see Shawna hounding the door like some kind of fucking crazy stalker, which she kind of is.  
Maybe you should’ve given Dave a warning?

You unlock the door and throw it open, unleashing Shawna on him. Nah. Mister cool guy will be fine.

Immediately after you think that, though, you regret it. Shawna throws herself onto the couch and Dave completely freaks and rolls out of the way, but not in time for him to dodge her talons snatching onto his shoulders and pinning him back down.

“Woah, she’s an animal.” Tracy says.

Uhhhhhh.  
You put down the food.

“OH MY GOSH YOU ARE SO FREAKING ADORABLE!”

Dave sinks himself deeper into the couch, bewildered and confused as Shawna rubs her grubby little mitts all over his face.

“I KNEW you had to be a huge cutie to score someone like (y/n)!”

“It’s not like that Shawna-”

She’s squealing now and it hurts your eardrums from afar, so you don’t envy Dave who’s right in her face. He’s frantically searching the room for you and when he sees you, mouths “what the goddamn shit?”

He’s asking for help.

You mouth back “I don’t know either, sorry.”

You can’t do anything now.

Shawna starts shaking Dave, and his head snaps back and forth like a ragdoll. “I didn’t know they made boys that looked like you still! Tell me how you’ve been since we found you!”

Dave’s jaw is clenched in a death lock in an attempt to save his tongue from a nasty chomp, and he doesn’t dare to release it to answer her. His fingers dig into the material of the couch to brace himself, and you wonder why he won’t push her off.

“Damn, he’s just letting her go at it” You muse, and Tracy looks at you like your stupidity amazes her.

“Well no shit! You think he’s going to toss her off onto the coffee table WWE style?!”

Oh. Right.

“Don’t you think he can escape?”

Tracy exclaims in frustration and walks over, an arm raised cautiously, like she was approaching a dangerous bloodlusting creature. “Shawna, that’s enough-”

Shawna reaches for Dave’s shades, eyes shining with curiosity. “Oh, why are you wearing these indoors? At night time? Are you high?”

“Shawna, maybe don’t touch those-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Dave has somehow slipped his way out from Shawna, kicking a long leg up onto the headrest of the couch and backflipping into the air and over her. You and Tracy watch with dropped jaws as he lands perfectly on the coffee table, sweeping one leg out and around to maintain balance in an astounding demonstration of agility. The cups and trash on the table are knocked off, save for the one his toothbrush is in, which he grabs before it hits the floor.  
He pushes up his shades nonchalantly with his other hand and Shawna turns around slowly, eyes wide with stupefaction.

“How did you…?”

“How did he?-” Tracy gestures to him largely and looks to you for an answer, but you’re just as taken aback as she is.

How didn’t he break the table? Last time you tried to sit on it you swore it moaned like a whore! This was unfair treatment, and what the fuck did Dave just do in front of your friends? You didn’t realize you were hosting the Olympics in your goddamn room.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Shawna can only numbly stare at him and gape.

“…So, you’re not high?” She asks meekly.

"I thought he was sick?" Tracy asks, a nervous edge in her voice.

"...Hell yeah, sick as fuck."

Dave gets back on the floor and runs a hand through his attractively tousled hair. “Nah. Don’t touch the stuff, but don’t judge those who do. ‘Cause all lifestyles are different, and that’s cool too.” He winks at the camera, but we can’t see it because of his shades.

You rush over to him, checking to see if Shawna had broken anything of his.

“Dude, are you okay? She was really giving you a run for your money. I thought you were going to walk out with at least some kind of brain damage.’”

Tracy checked Shawna for injuries, then turned to Dave. “I’m really sorry, she gets a bit wild when she’s excited.”

Dave just shook his head, the ceiling lamp reflecting off his shades in a way that made him look extremely fuckable and fresh.

“Don’t worry about it,” he held out his hand in greeting, and Tracy took it firmly.

“Tracy.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tracy. Cool to meet you. (Y/n) talks about you two all the time.”

He extends an arm to Shawna, who takes it still stunned.

“Shawna, I’m guessing?”

She nods.

“Thanks. I haven’t gotten around to doing that shit since Bro left.”

“Wait, you did this to Bro?” You ask incredulously. Did Bro leave because Dave was using him to practice Wrestlemania moves?? Because in that case you were NOT helping him anymore!

Dave turned to look at you, and only then did you recognize how closely you were standing to him.

“Not _to_ him, _with_ him.” He corrected. “Yeah. He’s way better than me though.”

How? How could it be possible that anyone got any smoother than that? Should you be scared?

“Oh, your _brother?_ ” Shawna dotes, clasping her hands together. What’s with her? That’s gross, and also pedophilia. You needed to have a talk with her later after all of this dies down.

Tracy looks at you, hesitation and a spark of approval in her eye. What the fuck? When was the last time Tracy approved of anything? And what was she approving of?

“Alright, we’re going to eat.” Tracy states.

Shawna looks up with huge puppy eyes at the mention of food, and Tracy's managed to get Dave’s attention too. Shawna runs off to unpack the food, and drags poor Dave with her. Haha, sucker.

“ Then, me and you are going to talk.” She rests a hand delicately on your shoulder, a stern frown on her face.

“Woah! What did I do? I wasn’t the one doing backflips on the furniture.”

“Yes, but it’s still something I think is important. It’s regarding Dave. There’s two things, actually, and I just feel like-”

Dave’s voice cuts through the livingroom, deep, smooth, and inquisitive. “Uh. You guys coming?”

You wave at him. “Yep! Coming! Tracy is STARVING! Right Trace?” You pinch her cheeks and pretend to make her talk. “Yes, Dave, I’m soooooo hungry! I’m gotta eat right now or I’ll piss and cum in my pants!”

Dave chuckles at your totally ironic humor, and it sounds like liquid velvet to your ears.

She swats your hands away and growls at you, massaging her face.

“Alright! Fine. Let’s go.”

The dining room is bustling, and shadows of four friends stretch across the floor and over the coffee table, where a lone toothbrush sat.


	4. takeaway blues

Dinner rolls by deliriously slowly. The table had turned into Tracy’s personal interrogation room, if interrogation rooms were allowed to have stacks of delicious, oily food.

“What do you mean ‘came from Texas?’” Tracy asked. “As in, you moved here from Texas, then you lost your brother here?”

Dave takes a long, noisy and insufferable sip of his pepsi. You can see Tracy’ eye twitch, but Shawna continues to fawn over his “perfect golden ratio phi,” which is really confusing to you because it has the word “ratio” and "phi" in it.

“Nope. I don’t live here. I have Bro, and that’s basically it. We both lived in Houston together until we didn’t, read: he ditched my ass.”

Tracy pondered this heavily, and you eyed her wondering why she was so concerned with Dave. She was usually so reserved, and only gave half a shit about people she cared about. You doubted she saw any reason to try and understand Dave, let alone help him.

“That’s interesting, I assume you two don’t live with parents?”

“Nope. It’s just me and him.”

Perfectly painted nails tick against the polished wood of your table, as if punching something into an imaginary calculator.

“Why did he leave then? And how long ago did this happen?”

Dave leaned back in his chair precariously, dangerously skimming the line between "looking fucking sick, in an ironic way" and "busting my ass, in a totally unironic way." He looked skyward as if the answer was written on the ceiling. “There wasn’t much of a reason he gave, or at least none that I know of. The last I heard of him was from a note he left behind, and there wasn’t an explanation or a date on it. He’s usually MIA so I honestly don’t know when he dipped.”

“You don’t even know when your own brother left?”

Dave didn’t react, but you freaked on on his behalf.

“Woah, Tracy! Chill, what’s the matter with you?”

“She’s fine.” Dave interjected, holding up a hand. “She’s right. I should’ve noticed sooner. That shit’s on me, no doubt.”

Tracy stares him down from across the table, meeting his unfaltering gaze with one of her own. “If you don’t even notice when he’s gone, why’d you decide to look for him?”

“I’m worried. Wouldn’t you be, too?”

“No, because I would’ve realized if someone I cared about disappeared.”

Shawna cringed at Tracy’s tone and receded into her chair with a tiny pout, deciding to become interested in the leftover rice on her plate.

“Tracy..." You warned.

“I said she’s fine.” Dave pushes up his shades, and the way the kitchen light reflects off the glass makes it impossible to see his eyes. “I deserved that.”

She takes this as her cue to continue her not-so-passive-and-mostly-aggressive attack on him.

“Are you _really_ looking for your brother? Because you’re awfully calm for someone who traveled halfway across the country on such short notice to find him.”

Dave opens his mouth to respond, but Tracy cuts him off again before he can.

“Tell me, how much effort have you actually put into finding him? My friend here has been up and down hundreds of search yields looking for a face she’s never seen before, and you’re just watching her fall short time and time again. Can you be bothered to think about your brother for more than the three seconds it takes to Google him? Have you put in any elbow grease to maybe even breathe in the right direction? Do you even really _want_ to find your brother?”

“Okay! Okay. Tracy, let’s go. Stop talking.” You get up and your chair screeches across the floor. You grab Tracy by her shoulders and steer her out of the room, exasperated and confused as fuck. Clearly whatever it is she wants to talk to you about is bottled up pretty shittily.

You turn back to apologize to Dave, but his gaze is downcast at the table.

Sighing, you resign yourself to redirecting Tracy to your room, conveniently the furthest room from the kitchen.

She sits down at your desk and you throw yourself onto your bed, assignments flying up and off the duvet. Her lips her twisted into a tiny scowl and she’s messing with her hair agitatedly.

“Tracy, dude. Relax. What the fuck happened back there?”

“What happened?” She hissed, “You tell me what you think is happening here! Do you think that dude seems like the type to be worried about anything other than himself? He’s such a- Such a-!”

Her hands grasp at the air frantically as if she could pull words out of the silence between her rants.

“-A humongous, pretty boy, tryhard!”

She throws down her hands to her side, and the chair spins slightly from the force. “If he’s so concerned about his lost brother, why hasn’t he looked for him? Sure, he’s called him, and texted, but what the hell? Why do all the things he's done involve him sitting on his ass? How isn’t he completely losing his hair running from school to school, block to block, knocking down doors?”

"Tracy, I don't think-"

“Don't you get it, (y/n)? I'll admit it, alright? I’m scared, okay? I’m scared! What if he’s trying to take advantage of you, (y/n)?” She rolls the chair over to your bed and gestures to the room. “You have a whole apartment here! There’s so much room for more people, but you have to remember that you’re struggling too!”

“Hold on Tracy, are you trying to say he’s lying about having a brother?”

She sighs harshly. “Maybe that’s it, but I think the more probable thing is that he’s trying to bum a ride off of you for a bit longer. Say he has a little brother, right? Where would they go after he finds him? They don’t even live in this city- this state! So he won’t. He won’t try to find his brother until he’s ready to get tickets back to Texas or Alabama or wherever the fuck he’s from, and he’ll stay here with you until he decides to get off his ass. But what does that mean for you?”

Tracy picks up a bunch of worksheets that flew off your bed when you flopped onto it. “Look at you! You’re a college student falling behind on work, on loans, on bills, on everything EXCEPT for helping people! If you need it- no, _when_ you need it though, who will help you?”

You search her face, and recognize the fear of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Tracy, breathe.”

She rubs her shoulder, exhaling heavily. “I know I sound like such a massive fucking bitch right now. I know that, okay? But sometimes you need to be a bitch when you think someone is preying on your friend. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Tracy, I get what you’re saying. The truth is, I’ve wondered about that too.” You sit up and grab a pillow. “And I appreciate it. I know you’re just worried about me, but I think Dave is telling the truth.”

“-But how? How do you know for sure?”

“I don’t. But I just have the feeling. I’ve seen the way he loses himself in thought sometimes, and I don’t need to read minds to know that he usually isn’t like that. He looks like he’s really missing something, and doesn’t know what to do, or where to start to get it back.”

You place your hand on Tracy’s.

“I know you’re scared for me, and I know you want to make sure I do the right thing. But Tracy, this _is_ the right thing for me. I get that you think I’m all over the place, and maybe you’re right to think that because I can barely help myself, I can’t help Dave, either. But I want to be able make that decision for myself. And if I want to help him, the first thing I have to do is believe in him, and myself too. And I do.”

Tracy doesn’t say anything at first. When she speaks, the frustration she was hiding behind melted away, and her true thoughts became unveiled.

“But… What if you can’t handle it?”

This was never about Dave, she was just concerned about how you would hold up with him here. Oh, Tracy.

“But what if I can?”

“But-”

“-Do you believe in me, Tracy? Like, seriously and genuinely, believe in me?”

You watch her as she searches your face, searching for something, anything, a reason for why you were so insistent on this.

“Well?” You ask hopefully.

Tracy groans, and places her head in her hands, defeated. “Yes, I do.”

She isn’t looking at you, but you give her a bright smile anyways, and throw your arms around her in a tight hug. “Thank you, Tracy. It means a lot to me. You’re like the proud mother I never had.”

“Oh my god, get off of me and see a fucking therapist.”

She shoves you off, but the smile stays on your face.

“You’re too kind, you know. I would never do this for anyone, even if they paid me.”

“Not true, actually. Shawna lives with you, she pays for rent so <i>technically</i> she pays you, and you do way more for her than this.”

She scoffs. “No, I meant for a stranger. You’re always too scared of hurting people, so you can’t retract your helping hand even if it means you get shit for it.”

“No, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“It is. Someday, your inability to say no is going to bite you in the ass, and hard. When that day comes, I hope you’re strong enough to realize what you need to do.”

Tracy stands up from the chair, brushing her pants off. “This lecture is finished.”

You wouldn’t say that was a lecture, it was more of a perplexed session of emotional diarrhea. You decide that you like the tender moment too much to ruin it, and say nothing.

Tracy goes to open the door, and both of you are surprised to find Dave standing in the doorway, a fist poised to knock. You wonder how long he’s been there.

“Oh, hi Dave.” You smile, and feel perspiration beading on your temples when Tracy just stares him down.

What the fuck Tracy please just open up your cold, stony heart to the world.

“Hey.” He answers coolly. “I just wanted to say, Shawna found your wine and is currently fucked up beyond the wire.”

“What?” You slap your hand onto your forehead and call out to her, assuming she hasn’t passed out. “Shawna, you goddamn alcoholic! It’s a school night and you’re already acting like the drunkard uncle at a family function?”

Tracy grumbles to herself and tries to walk past Dave, but he doesn’t budge.

Uh oh.

“Tracy.”

UH OH.

“I wanted to apologize. I was coming off as standoffish before, and that wasn’t cool of me at all.”

Uh oh?

“And you were right. I wasn’t trying my best to look for Bro because I was scared I wouldn’t find him, and I’d have to go back to Texas myself. But that was me being selfish, and I wanted to thank you for being straight up with me. (Y/n) is fortunate to have a friend like you to look after her.”

???????

Tracy tries to remain impasse, but you can tell she’s shocked at the heartfelt apology.

“Oh- I mean, sure, yeah. As in, yes, it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Oh my gosh, she was even worse at handling her stutter than you were, how was that possible?

She tries to abscond and Dave lets her, but calls out to her again before she can get too far.

“If it makes you uncomfortable that I’m here alone with your friend, I'm willing to leave.”

Tracy turns around. She looks pleasantly surprised, but gives a resigned half-smile.

“That’s not up to me.”

When she leaves to retrieve Shawna, Dave continues standing there, his hands tucked in his pockets and staring out your window and saying nothing.

When one uncomfortable second stretches into ten, you clear your throat.

“I get you’re trying to be deep and mysterious, but you’re kind of freaking me out. Can you stand in the bathroom and do that in the mirror instead?”

Dave keeps his eyes glued on the window, looking out into the wide expanse of the twinkling city.

“I’m sorry.”

You shoot him a perplexed look. “Uh, you don’t have to apologize. Just don’t do that in front of my bedroom door.”

“No, I mean for before. And everything before that too.”

You stare at him, waiting for him to slip up and show even a sliver of emotion. It doesn’t happen.

“It’s okay. Tracy wasn’t mad at you, you know?”

He leans against the doorframe, one leg crossed in front of the other in a shockingly stylish pose for such a serious talk.

“It’s alright if she was. She had a good reason to be.”

You’re not sure why Dave is beating himself up like this, and you shake your head. “She really wasn't. She was just worried about other things, and she keeps it so locked up so tightly that sometimes it comes out the wrong way. She stepped over a few boundaries today, and I'm sorry about that. I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt you, Dave.”

He doesn’t say anything for a second, and it’s quiet, save for the occasional rumbling of a car outside.

“She was right about a lot of things though, like how I let you do all the work. Or how I haven't been putting my share into the search. I'm sorry." His eyes stay searching the night sky, and he seems so familiar with the action that it makes you wonder how often misses his brother, even before he disappeared into the hot Texas air.

"But, there was one thing she was wrong about. I do wanna find my Bro.”

The somber way he says that makes your stomach turn. He looked fine, but something about him looked a bit more tired, and a little more mature. Maybe it was because his hair sat flatter, or because his eyebrows were tighter, or maybe even because his shades didn't seem so reflective. Or maybe it was just you, imagining things.

“I know, Dave. I never doubted that for a second.”

Dave lingers at the doorway a bit longer but before you can find out why, you hear a chair being knocked over in the other room. Dave’s head snaps towards the sound too, and looks to you to follow him.

As expected, drunk Shawna is being a huge baby and refuses to leave. She’s crying about how sad you must be living here all alone, and how you’re like a sad and lonely cat lady with no cats. She seems particularly upset about the lack of felines, because she starts howling about getting you a kitty for your birthday, which isn’t until a few months from now.

Tracy is struggling keeping her under wraps, so you offer to go down with them together. Dave keeps his distance for understandable reasons.

She calms down in the cool air of the elevator, and when you make it to the door you thank Tracy for paying you a visit tonight.

“Even though it got really tense at one point, it was still nice. I think Dave got the chance to sort through some stuff he was conflicted about.”

Tracy hoisted Shawna higher. “Yeah, when you get the chance, can you let him know I’m… You know…?”

You grin at her. “I think he already knows.”

She huffs, mumbling a “whatever” and turning around. The door starts closing on her, but she catches it again with her foot before it does.

“Oh, but wait (y/n).”

“Huh? What’s up?”

Tracy looks behind you to check for extraneous persons, but finds none.

“That Strider guy. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

“You mean Dave? But he’s from Texas. He only got here a few days ago.”

Tracy dodges Shawna’s drunkly wayward arm. “I know, that’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. It sounds impossible, but I can almost swear I’ve seen him around before. Even before this weekend, when the thing with you and him happened.”

Shawna throws up her hand and almost gives Tracy a raging black eye. “It’s PAAAAR-TAYYY time!”

“Ugh.” Tracy blows hair out of her face and gives Shawna a pointed look. “Whatever. I guess we don't have to talk about this now. I should get back before she actually hurts me.”

You scratch your head, wondering if she was going to be okay. “Sure thing, Tracy. Goodnight!”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

She removes her foot and the heavy door swings closed again with a slow hiss. The noises of the bustling night life outside mute themselves and whisper through the crack in the door instead.

You think about what she said for a few seconds more. Where would she have seen Dave before all of this? Maybe they had mutual friends, or she saw him on BookFace, for whatever reason?

You head back up to your apartment and decide to push it to the back of your mind. Besides, you had a feeling things would start making sense soon.


	5. before the arrival

\-- SadFroggy [SF] began pestering TaostyAdam [TA] at 3:45PM—

SF: whoever invented multivariable calculus, your mom a hoe

TA: LMAOO. Same. What the hell even happened in class today?

SF: i don’t know

SF: i went to a vending machine for a snack and when i came back the board was half full of derivatives

SF: i didn’t even get to copy them down before he erased it

TA: That’s so funny, I remember you leaving but I didn’t know you didn’t have it copied down. Is that why you kept asking for my notebook? :’ (

TA: [TaostyAdam sent 3 attachments]

TA: I have pics of the board if you want, but that’s literally all I can do for you, lmao.

SF: thanks adam, i appreciate it : (

SF: im gonna get back to work now, ill ttyl.

TA: Sure thing, let me know if you need help and i'll try my best.

\-- SadFroggy [SF] ceased pestering TaostyAdam [TA] at 3:49PM—

You had gotten back from class a few hours ago, and were now trying to finish this ridiculously hard assignment your professor had given your class. Unfortunately, Adam seemed busy with his own work.

Your brain was swimming with how many crazy shapes were possible to make with even crazier equations. F(x) who? You left that toxic bitch behind in high school.

…Which is exactly why you were getting so massively fucked right now. Goddamnit, past you! Get your shit together! F(x) isn’t a middle school bully, but it can still ruin your life.

No, you didn’t need to talk to someone about it.

And why was there a parachute on the next page? Why would you ever want to calculate exactly one third of it?

You checked the textbook again, but your mind refused to focus on the run-on sentences for more than five seconds.

Fuck.

You paged through the textbook for a few more minutes, and reviewed some of the lecture material from this afternoon again. You understood most of it, but there was a part of the audio that clipped when the professor hit his mic in a weird way, cutting the audio for about two minutes. Two, beautiful, precious minutes that could explain _so_ much to you right now.

The next half hour is comprised of you rewinding those two minutes constantly while fiddling with the volume, subtitles and reverb of your laptop.   
Eventually, you settled on zooming in on the old dude’s crusty lips trying to lip-read what he said, though it was all in vain.

You wonder if you should message Adam again about the homework, but heavily consider if you would be bothering him. He was so much better at math than you and was basically breaking his back carrying you through multiple calculus classes, you always felt guilty about asking him for more help.

You groan and put your head on your textbook, ignoring how a crow was pecking at your window insisting for a treat.

Multivariable calculus might be dry fucking you in the ass right now, but the textbook made a mighty fine pillow to bite into. Maybe you would take a long nap, and wake up when the world blew up and multivariable turned back into singular-variable.

“Hey.”

You pick up your face to find the source of the voice and the page of the textbook sticks to your face unpleasantly, reminding you to wash your face.

“Huh?”

Dave stands in the doorway coolly, and he gives a short and rumbling chuckle at the state of your hair.

“Didn’t realize it was naptime already. Would you like diapers and pacifiers with those graham crackers?”

You felt your face heat up, and suddenly you were no longer tired.

“Put a cork in it, Strider. I’ve been staring at this shit for an eternity, and I still can’t understand what they want me to do.”

The crow at your window caws in a way that echoes laughter, and you sink further into your chair.

"Pfft, haven't you been procrastinating for a few hours now? Even that crow you feed won't pity you."

You sigh dejectedly. "Aw man, just what I needed. Now I have two birdbrains mocking me."

Dave gives a half smile and invites himself into your room, seating himself on your bed. He catches a glimpse of your textbook.

“What’s that?”

You throw your assignment at him, flinging eraser bits everywhere and not giving a fuck.

“It’s multivariable calculus. They want me to calculate one third the area of that parachute.” You scoot over and point at the little three-eyed money you drew attached to the figure.

“That’s Paul. He gives me the spirit to keep pushing forward.”

Dave examines the diagram carefully then skims the question. He thrusts out his hand, fingers beckoning for something to come hither.

Confused and somewhat flattered, you put your hand on his.

He takes a few seconds to register the contact, then gives you a look that undoubtedly translates to ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

“What the fuck are you doing?”

See, you knew it.

“I was asking for a pencil, for fucks sake, (y/n). I know I’m like, irresistibly hot and super sexy, but keep that shit in your pants.”

“OH. Shit. Sorry. God, that was embarrassing. I mean, I knew that. I was just… Measuring your hand?”

Dave kind of just stares at you with his mouth slightly hanging open and his eyebrows knit together. “…Are you having a stroke right now? Because if you are, that would totally be in line with my ironic humor. But it would only be funny for about four and a half hours, because that’s the latest that stroke medication can be administered.”

Okay, now you were confused too.

“Uhm. Here.” You slap a pencil in his hand and check to see if you can still move both sides of your face.

Luckily, it looks like you’re not having a stroke.   
Unluckily, it looks like the source of your stupidity and largely embarrassing moment was due to that chronic and irreversible thing called being a dumb fucking bitch.

You plop onto the bed beside him, and the crow moves from the window by your desk to the window by the bed. It continues to whip it’s head back and forth like a metronome, smacking it’s beak into your window mercilessly.

God, why the fuck were these crow bitches so stuck on you??

As you think this you reach for the jar of dried fruit, but seeing the half-solved problem on the page stops you dead in your tracks.

Dave’s right hand writes equation after equation, number after number and letter after letter. You’re not even sure of where he’s getting the numbers from until you realize he’s calculating things in his head then keeping track of them using his left hand, fingers moving like he’s counting with numbers instead of integrals and differential equations.

You’re scared that talking to him will disturb him, so you just lean next to him and watch him as he calculates.

He's hunched over slightly to keep the papers from sliding off his lap. You think about how charming he is when he's not poker-faced, and appreciate the break in his cool-guy facade while you can. His face is scrunched in concentration, eyebrows furrowed and lips forming numbers that tumble out nonstop as he stores the memory of them in his fingers. When he pauses to make computations, you notice how he pulls his lower lip in what makes for an extremely fuckable face.

You wonder about a different life, where you and Dave met under different circumstances.

What if you two had met in class, instead of outside a club on a cold night? Would he have even spared a second glance in your direction? Would you two have become friends outside these strange, and extenuating circumstances?  
You ponder about the life he had back in Texas, ponder about his friends, his family, and possible love interests. Was Dave Strider single? Not that it mattered to you, you just knew that surely he had left a lot behind when he decided to come here after his brother. You know he mentioned his best friend, John, but wondered briefly if he was as close to Jade and Rose, who he had mentioned once or twice between conversations.   
Looking at Dave, you wondered how his brother looked like.  
Was he also blonde? Tall? Did he also occasionally comb his hair in the other direction for the "irony of it all?" Did he also smirk instead of smile, unless he was laughing at a joke?

You get lost in thought for a while, and don't notice when Dave looks in your direction with a smug smile. "You enjoying yourself there?"

Pulled from your stupor, you blink. "What do you mean?"

He chuckles and continues writing. "You've been eyeing me for a while."

Shit. Have you? "Ah- sorry, I'll stop."

You stare really hard at the papers for the rest of the time he's working.

Dave finishes off his work by boxing his answer, then picking up the paper and blowing the graphite dust off in a big show of his completion.

“Here ya go babe.”

You snatch them from his hands in awe, too absorbed by the lines upon lines of math to even begin to process that he called you ‘babe.’

“No way this is the answer. You spent maybe five minutes on it in total, that’s the same amount of time it takes me to understand what the hell they’re asking me for.”

“What? Are you dyslexic or something?”

“No, it’s just a condition called being stupid as fuck. Thanks for the concern though.”

You do a quick google of the question and find the answer on Ehgg, the convenient website where you can ask an eggspert your study question. The explanation is weirdly longer than the solution on your paper so you assume Dave is wrong, but upon seeing the final crunched numbers, Dave’s messy scrawl matched the answer down to the fifth decimal.

“Where the fuck are you hiding the calculator? Or is this black magic, you witch?” You jab him with your finger and he throws the pencil at you in retaliation.

“I didn’t need one, and if I knew black magic you can bet your ass I’d be hexing up some sweet ironic raps right now.”

How could someone who spoke like he was missing a chromosome be so goddamn smart?

You sit back up and show him the Ehgg solution, comparing it with his work.

“Why is your work so much more abbreviated? What happened to these lines?”

Dave took your phone and scrolled down the page, the phone screen reflecting in his glasses.

“Oh, here. You see this?” He points to a particularly convoluted line on the Ehgg page. “The solution is right but this is a three-space vector function in the diagram.”

He gestures to the diagram on your paper, which is indeed this “Three-Space Vector” he speaks of. You think.

“That means that you need to calculate the parametrized space curves without using the piecewise function. This whole chunk is only going to be cancelled out in the end.”

“Uh, so how did you know to leave it out?”

Dave hands your work and phone back to you. “I didn’t. I just simplified it using substitution and cancelled the common variables.”

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh. Yeah. That’s what you totally would’ve done too. Because you definitely pay attention in class instead of playing a bootleg version of flappy bird on your laptop.

“Geez dude, where’d you learn how to do math like this?”

Dave shrugged and kicked his legs up on your bed. “I didn’t learn it in a classroom. Bro is really into robotics, so sometimes he asks me to help him crunch out numbers for these insane circuits. I guess I just managed to pick up some of his techniques along the way.”

“Pfft. Bro sounds like a freakin’ geek.”

“Coolest fuckin’ geek ever.”

You page through the rest of your worksheet and wonder how long it’d take you to finish. You still had a midterm to study for, which would require a few hours of attention. It would be tight, but you might be able to do it with a little bit of help.

You put on your brightest smile and turn Dave, preparing to get on your knees and grovel for him to save your sorry, stupid ass. Before you can, he offers assistance on his own.

“I can help you finish that, you know.” The way his lips curl into a smirk when he forms the words makes you gulp, and now you’re hyperaware of the bed below the both of you.

“I-I would like that.” Fuck, you stuttered.

“But,” He clicks his tongue to emphasize the T. His voice drops to a whisper and his accent becomes a lot more apparent. “I want somethin’ too.”

You’ve read enough shitty, middle-aged-women targeting novels to know where this is going. You imagine Dave’s face photoshopped onto a grossly buff guy’s body, you the damsel in distress clinging to his leg in a nightgown.

Actually, it kind of repulses you so you stop thinking about it

“And what would that be?” You attempt to sound disinterested, but it doesn’t work because you were obviously shitting your pants about a mattress in the same room as you and Dave three seconds ago.

He gives you a devilish grin and leans in closer to you.

Uh, what the fuck? Was he being serious?

You match his movements with your own, moving backwards to keep a distance from him.

He keeps moving in, putting your weak-ass abs through a tough workout trying to support your weight without dropping onto the bed. He keeps coming closer until your backs surrenders and hits the mattress, but even then Dave doesn’t slow his roll.   
As he moves closer, you can feel his blonde hair tickling your face, and his warm breath on yours.

His shades hide his eyes, but you wonder if he’s looking at you. You wonder if you look as nervous and confused as you do on the inside, and wonder if he can feel the heat rolling off your face.

His lips are slightly parted and you can feel every inhale and exhale he takes, theres a rhythmic beat to it that oddly calms you. You watch as he shifts, wonder what he’s raising his arm for, what he’s reaching for, what he’s looking at, then suddenly you feel like the biggest moron in the universe.

He sits up and presents his dilemma.

“Apple juice. I drank all of it yesterday.”

He shakes the empty jug to stress it’s apparent emptiness.

You don’t know when this asshole brought an empty jug of juice into your room, and you definitely don’t remember him setting it down next to your bed.

Nonetheless, you are thoroughly bested and accept miserable defeat.

“Juuuuuuice.” He shakes the bottle some more, and it’s vaguely reminiscent of the annoying crow outside your window.

You snatch the bottle from him and sit up, heaving a heavy as fuck sigh to demonstrate your heavy as fuck disappointment.

“Shut up. Give me that.”

You toss the container across the room at the garbage, but the jug is too bouncy and ricochets off the wall and into your pile of dirty clothes.

“Uh, nice?” Dave offers uselessly.

Stupid, oblivious fuckwad.

You get up and start rummaging in your closet, settling for a smart turtleneck and black jeans. You look back at Dave expectantly.

He stares at you blankly, and you have to gesture to the door.

“Hello? Leave! Now! Nice try, but you’ll have to cough up twenty dollars to see this bad boy naked!”

“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Sorry.” He hastily gets off the chair and heads out the door, closing the door behind him.

He opens it again.

“Twenty you said?”

“GET OUT!”

You throw a clothes hanger at him and he closes the door before it can hit him.

When you’re done, you head out to the living room.

Dave is flopped on the floor beside the window, basking in the warm light of the sun. He’s twiddling with his phone again and it looks like he might be sending another message to Bro, adding to the pile of unseen and unread outward going texts.

You debate on asking him to come out with you for company, but you decide to let him continue tapping out his message to Bro.

Since Tracy had spoken to him the other day, Dave became a lot keener on actively looking for his brother. And although you were glad he was doing more to help himself now, he exhausted himself waiting day in and day out for a single notification, the one that confirmed that Bro was okay. You were worried for him, but felt that you needed to let him take this step on his own.

“Hey Dave,” You walk over and touch your foot to his, giving him a tiny kick. “I’m going to head out now. Is apple juice the only thing you want?”

Dave hums, and sits up. He flips his phone face down and grins at you, and you wonder if he does that on purpose.

“Yeah, that’s all I’ve been thinking of recently. That sweet godly nectar. Man, I’m salivating just thinking about it. You know that episode of Clifford where that Emily girl has a steak, and Clifford drools into her house and floods it? I’m going to flood your living room in saliva, (y/n). I’m like Clifford, except not big, just red.”

You want to ask him what the fuck he’s rambling about, but you realize you don’t want to hear any more of his weird internal monologues, which he’s unfortunately been doing more of lately.

“I’m not a big fan of spit. Please don’t do that. I’ll be back soon, and when I return, I don’t want to need a canoe to travel to my bedroom.”

He turns back to his phone and flops back down. His smile is a bit more faded now.

“No promises, Emily Elizabeth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! hope you enjoyed this chill chapter, because the next one is gonna get a juicy ¯\\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯


	6. the encounter

The market isn’t as packed as it usually is when you come here, probably because it’s a weekday and not a weekend. It’s also an oddball hour to be shopping for groceries, but you’re not complaining.  
You’re actually glad that you don’t have to push and shove with feisty old ladies, tired moms and dodge their gremlin children playing tag between the aisles, oftentimes leaving behind sticky or slippery liquid substances like nasty little snails. Gross.

You stroll through each section carefully, taking mental inventory of what you had at home, and what you needed to restock on.

You pass by some cereal, and remember that you’re running low. Dave was some kind of cereal monster. He’s already woken you up twice in the middle of the night by clanging and banging around in the kitchen looking for bowls and spoons, and he never just eats one bowl. He makes a meal out of half the box before he’s content, which is why you had exactly half a box left.

You debate between the Applejacks and Coco puffs, unsure of which one to get. Dave seemed to have a preference for Applejacks, but to be completely honest you had only purchased that one last time because it was on sale.  
The weird, hyper-realistic art style of the mascots freak you the fuck out, but Dave says they remind him of Bro’s “puppet collection,” so he holds a weird place in his heart for them.  
You wonder if Dave would qualify for being a disturbed child, then remember that you guys don’t even qualify as regular children anymore.

Fuck. College is a weird time.

You ended up grabbing a few boxes of cereal, and some fruit before heading over to the refrigerated goods section.

You notice on the mango there’s a three dollar label slapped on top of a two dollar fifty cents label, which is ludicrous because mangoes aren’t even supposed to be more than a dollar fifty.  
In your sacrilegious, broke college student attempt to save fifty cents and single-handedly overthrow capitalism, you make quick work of scratching off the three dollar label.

“Fuck, these things are so goddamn sticky.”

You’re still messing with the fruit in your hand when you turn the corner, so you don’t see him until he’s a few feet from you.  
You look up briefly between your illegal activities to make sure no employees are watching, and something odd catches your eye.

His back is to you, but there was no mistaking that blonde hair and those weird fucking shades poking out from the sides of his face.

“Dude, what the hell? When did you follow me here?”

You reach out to grab his shoulder, but when he rises from his crouched position and turns around to look at you, your throat goes dry and your heart leaps to your throat.

This was not Dave.

You can feel the blood rushing in your ears with the embarrassment of your blunder- but also undoubtedly at the sight of the tall stranger.  
You were never a fan of hallmark movies, but the way your world slowed down to drink in all of his features, slow and romantic music softly thrumming over the market speakers, was only comparable to such horrendous pieces of cinematography.

He stood a full head taller than you, electric blonde hair peeking out messily from beneath a battered and frayed grey baseball cap. His broad shoulders fill your vision when he turns to face you, and you can see your own flustered expression in his bespectacled gaze, which you only realized now were pointier than Dave’s shades by far, maybe even comically so.

You take a stuttering breath, retracting your hand. “O-Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

You nearly flinch when his chest resonates with a deep and echoing chuckle, and desperately try to remember the last time you felt an odd fluttering in your chest.  
Your eyes vigilantly follow the corners of his lips dipping into a smirk that radiated like the sun, shocking your heart into beating threefold as quickly.

“Well, ain’t that somethin. Here I was thinkin the shades made me unique.”

Oh fuck, how could a voice be so magnetizing? It was deep, thick and sugary like molasses, and you could listen to him on loop all day. And that accent, it sounded oh-so familiar but your brain was short circuiting now, melting under the way he rolled his words into lazy drawls dancing on his tongue.

Shit, you needed to respond now instead of just standing here gawking at him!

“I- I mean, I haven’t seen shades quite so, er, angular?”

His smirk remained plastered to his face, and a blush remained plastered on yours. He tapped on his shades and clicked his tongue.

“These are one of a kind, little lady. Licensed and worn only by the coolest guys in town, ironically.”

That sounded eerily similar to something Dave would say, you think as you tear your eyes away from him to scrape whatever dignity you had left off the floor. You stare at what he’s holding instead: a single, glistening jug of apple juice.

Unfortunately, it also seemed to be the last one on the shelf as well.

“Oh, hey, look at that.” You give a nervous chuckle, because you’re nervous as fuck. “You’re here for juice too?”

He picks up the jug in question and you can see his biceps straining against the material of his polo sleeves.

“This thing?”

You can’t tell, but you assume he’d glanced at the empty shelf from behind his glasses.

“Naw. Just a force of habit, I suppose. I don’t usually drink this stuff.” He extends the bottle to you.

You’re too preoccupied with trying to act normal to actually act normally, so you don’t realize when he offers the last bottle of apple juice to you.  
He raises one eyebrow on his perfectly sculpted face and chortles quietly at you, gently grabbing your hand in his own and wrapping your fingers around the jug’s handle.

By the time you realize what he’s doing, it’s too late to redeem you from embarrassment city central, so of course you decide to delve even further beyond the point of saving.

You freak out and jerk your hand away, startled that a warm hand was suddenly on your own.

“Woah-!” You withdraw your hand as if something had seared you, and take a step back to steady yourself.

Everything plays in slow motion after this.

As your foot makes the descent downwards, you see two children running towards the end of the aisle, and vaguely remember the weirdly and conveniently placed thought about children leaving liquids everywhere.

As fate would have it, once your heel connected to the floor you were sent flying wildly off balance from some mystery liquid on the floor, all of your groceries sent soaring through the air like brave cadets off to damaged foods war.

You scramble to brace yourself, but then realize you’re in debt from going to university and maybe imminent brain damage won’t be so bad after all.  
As you wait for gravity to batista-bomb you into the tile floor, you wonder if your health insurance covers becoming a vegetable.

Alas, your plans to destroy your own life through complete inaction are foiled. Again.

Faster than you can process, he catches the jug of juice, not a single dent made in the unpurchased item. The same arm wraps around your midsection tightly to brace you.

Your mind is still reeling at his grasp on you, so all you can do is watch in complete awe and fascination as the man simultaneously catches your boxes of cereal with the other hand, stacking and balancing like it was a children’s game.  
Within your periphery you see the mango you were holding sailing back down to earth right at your face, and just as you think it’s doomed- and you’re doomed- the stranger shifts you into a romantic dip and raises your arm for you. The mango lands perfectly in your palm, and ceases it’s trajectory to your visage.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.”

Wait a second, you feel like you’ve gone through this before.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Both you and the man whip your heads towards the squeaky voices and catch sight of two disheveled looking children, one suspiciously holding a half-empty sippy bottle of water.

They giggled wildly and jump up and down, chanting their newly aquired phrase “holy shit” like there weren’t abhorred adults in the store giving them, then you, admonishing looks.

“Oh god. How long were they there for?”

You feel his breath hotly fan across your face for a few more seconds before he pulls you back up, not releasing you until he was sure you wouldn’t bash your head into the floor again. You can’t tell if it’s the adrenaline making your ears ring and heart race, or the memory of his toned body against your own.

“Well, ya taught those tots a new word today,” he said laughing mischievously, watching the children run off to take the piss on their mother.

Though his smile was quite devilish, you felt your face turn warm, and it felt like the sun was sweeping over your cheeks on a cloudless day.

“You okay there?”

You blink once, then twice. “Oh- Yeah, sorry. I’m still a bit shook up from before, haha.”

The way his lip quirked said he knew you didn’t mean falling, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Flighty one aren’tcha?” He quips.

He places a thoughtful finger under his sharp chin, and raises an eyebrow at you, a roguish smile playing at his lips.

“Ah, I knew you looked familiar. You’re the girl who almost broke her hip dancing at the club last week.”

WHAT.

“Haha, I’m not sure what you mean by that??”

You feel beads of sweat start forming on your head.

Had he seen you with Tracy and Shawna last week? Was he one of the people you drunkenly clung to while too tipsy to actually dance well?  
Or worse- was he one of the people who had witnessed your one-man-conga-line?!

He chuckled. “Oh, sure ya do. How could anyone forget a dance like that?”

Like what? A drunk twat? You wish _you_ could forget.

You laugh sheepishly, trying to play off your humongous buttload of mortification. “I was probably too drunk to remember anything I did that night, but I’m sorry you had to see my white dad jimmies.”

He breaks into a rumbling laugh that makes you smile too, and want to keep telling him jokes, forever.

“I’m at the club too often to not see all kinds of weird moves, no sweat.”

“I’m guessing nothing was as bad as me almost busting my ass here just now?” You joke, chancing a glance back up at him.

He fixes you with another heartstopping smile.

“Well, ya _do_ seem to have a habit for dropping things like it’s hot.”

You blush and laugh anxiously, still feeling weird about the whole “hot guy seeing you have a seizure on the dancefloor” situation.

“I’m more of a clumsy fuck when there are attractive people around.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, smile melting into another sinful smirk at your confession.

Wait, confession? Fuck. Did you say that out loud?

He hands off the groceries to you, holding your gaze.

“I’m the DJ at the club down the way.” His fingers brush against your arm as he drops the mango in your pile, seeming to linger yet remaining light as a feather. “You know th'one.”

You wonder, shocked, if he’s extending an invitation to you or if he’s just making conversation.

“I have some things t’do, but it was nice meetin’ you.” He extends his hand. “Dirk.”

PFFT. _What?_

You reach out to give him an awkward but firm shake around the groceries. “I’m (y/n).”

He gives your hand a friendly squeeze, and you can feel the rough texture of his palms under the fingerless gloves he has on.

“I’ll be seein’ you ‘round, (y/n).”

He leaves after that, but your feet remain rooted to the tile floor.

Holy fuck, what just happened?

Was it even possible that someone was dripping with so much charisma and so much country at the same time? You thought those two were supposed to be opposites.  
You imagine the jacked mascot for Brawny paper towels and cringe at the memory of red flannel and overalls. Isn’t that what country accents were supposed to mean? Not white-polo wearing badboys with killer reflexes!  
Life was unfair.

Well, not as unfair as being named Dirk. Oh my god, that was such a geeky fucking name.

You giggle to yourself and feel a blush coloring your cheeks again at the thought of him. _Dirk._

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, but the thoughts of his wild smile and messy hair plague your mind as you walk over to checkout. Dirk. His name weirdly fit him, with his funky shades and all.

Hey, it could be way worse, you thought. At least he wasn’t named Bro.


	7. the drift between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg you guys....... im so sorry for leaving you hanging for so long. i had school and it kicked my ass but its done so thats cool right. anyways heres a new chapter, its gonna be picking up reeeeeeal soon. i love you guys, truly one of the best fandoms i've ever written for. all of you are so receptive and kind and lovely, i wanna give u all a great big hug. but i cant. cuz ur all online and also cuz of covid. so have a new chapter instead. xoxo

When you get back to your apartment, you kick open the door action-movie style and flop onto the couch face down, not really caring that Dave scrambles off it like a disgruntled cat to accommodate your faceplanting.

“Woah. Who hit _you_ with a truck?”

You grunt and drop the grocery bags on the floor, bringing your hands up to cover your face.

“Shit. Do I look like I got hit by a truck?”

“Um. No?”

The way Dave says that sounds like he’s trying _really_ hard to hold back the truth, but you appreciate his shitty attempt to make you feel better anyways.

“You kind of always look like this.”

…Appreciated it while it lasted.

“Your apple juice.” You speak into the cushions and point at the bags without raising your head. “And your cursed puppet Applejacks.”

“Dope.”

You hear Dave pawing through the goods beside you, seeking out his sacred fruity beverage and “healthy” sugary midnight snack. You allow your mind to wander back to the memory of a tall and rippling Dirk and sigh. 

Why’d you always have to act like such a buffoon whenever you found anyone attractive? It seemed like all you were good at doing was making yourself the butt of jokes. But…

You felt your face tickle with warmth recalling his hearty laughter, replaying itself like a song stuck inside your head.

You supposed a little bit of a scatterbrain was a good thing, sometimes. It helped you get into good graces with Dirk, hadn’t it? He had even told you to come see him at work, that had to count for something. You were basically engaged now, with three children and a mediocre house you’d never be able to repay the mortgage on until you were wrinkly and sixty!

Fuck. Wasn’t this supposed to be a fantasy thought? How did debt sneak into here?

You take another deep inhale to steady your increasingly pounding mind, trying to banish the thoughts of living in a cardboard box under a bridge and return to hot-man wonderland.

Unfortunately, your deep breath was a little too deep, and you realize the couch kind of smells like ass, which makes sense, because that’s literally all it ever got until an idiot decided to faceplant into it.

“Ugh, gross.”

You turn your head and eyeball Dave, who was currently analyzing the back of the cereal box with a strange amount of concentration.

“Oh shit. I didn’t realize you cared about the nutritional facts so much. I’ll get you something healthier next time.”

Dave jerks his head up, his train of thought broken.

“Huh? Nutritional facts?” He shakes the cereal box once, then twice. “Nah. I don’t care about that crap. I was just trying to find out how to get Cinna-Mon to the caramel coaster without falling into Applejack’s sweetness-snare.”

He turns the box to you and points to what you assume is the “sweetness-snare,” given it was labelled “SWEETNESS SNARE” with thirty-point comic sans font for blind nine-year olds.

“See? This puzzle is inherently flawed due to the way these paths are constructed. There’s no way any kid can solve this and enter for the Grand Prize Sweetstakes. Not cool Kellogg’s, not cool.”

Um.

You try your best to not let the “what the fuck dude?” seep out onto your facial features, but your mouth speaks faster than your blessed little heart.

“What the fuck, dude?”

You tried. Kind of.

Thankfully Dave seems unfazed, and you assume it’s because he’s completely used to your reactions to his strange comments, given he makes at least two bizarre remarks an hour.

“Yeah man. Total douchebag move by big cooperate men.”

He shakes his head in disapproval, and you realize he hadn’t understood the “what the fuck” was directed at him. You don’t really feel like correcting him, so you change the topic.

“What about the applejuice? Did big cooperate men ruin that, too?”

Dave picks up the jug and inspects it in a way that makes you wonder if big cooperate men really _did_ ruin apple juice as well, but the way his lips pull up at the corners reassure you that your apple juice is safe from the clutches of seedy business practices, for now.

“Not at all. This is actually my favorite brand. Thanks, (y/n).”

You take note of the way he isn’t smirking like usual, and drink in how dimples form whenever he gives a heartfelt thank you. You try to burn it into your memory, but like all the other times the smile fades back into a smirk too quickly.

“Yeah, no problem.”

You ignore the twisting feeling in your stomach.

“So what else did’ya get today? You were out for a while.”

Your cheeks redden upon remembering _why_ exactly you had taken so long and you chew on your bottom lip, not really wanting to tell Dave how you had brought the whole circus with you to the supermarket and made a spectacle of yourself.

…But then again, it’d be nice to talk to someone about how weird you got around attractive dudes. What better option than an attractive dude, himself? You’d avoid telling him that last bit, of course.

“There was… This guy.”

You rolled over and stared at the ceiling, feeling a bit squeamish facing Dave while recalling the incident. Then out of nowhere, you hear him give a shrill giggle.

“Oh. My. Gosh.” He claps his hands together and then covers his mouth, his voice taking a higher tone. “Oh my gosh, was he like, so totally hot?”

You drag your hands over your face and moan, kicking at the air.

“Holy fuck. Dave. You scared the shit out of me. Stop, you seriously sound like drunk Shawna.”

You flop back down, defeated and flustered. You swore to god this kid had a screw loose somewhere in that pretty head of his.

Dave quirked an eyebrow at your words, drawing up a knee and resting his chin on it, your sour mood putting a dampen on his perfect impression of thirsty fangirls. You can only see him out of your periphery, but the way his head is cocked still makes you swallow roughly.

Fuck. You thought you were over this.

“Okay, like you were saying?”

You sigh, folding your hands over your stomach and trying to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t really know what exactly about it is bothering me. I guess it’s that… You know…” You shrug, but it’s barely a shrug because the couch absorbs all your movement.

Dave waits for you to continue, but when you don’t he scooches closer to you. Just a bit.

“Yeeees?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes you guys are just…” You say, thinking back to the morning. How you stuttered over your words, tripped over your own two feet, right into Dirk’s strong, firm arms. His hair, his smirk, his shades.

“… So hot.”

Fuck.

You clamp your mouth shut the moment the words leave your lips, winded by your own complete idiocy, and pray to whatever god is up there that Dave missed what you said.

You dare a glance over at him and your hopes are dashed to high hell when you see that signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“Oh?”

Just one word, and you _knew_ exactly what he meant by it. A blush rages across your face, touching the tips of your ears and dusting your neck.

“Goddammit Dave! Not you!” You hesitate a bit as your mind revvs to life, then forces you to backtrack. “Well, I mean, _yes_ , you. But—”

Dave gives you a bit of a look through the shades. What look, you weren’t sure, but damn it all if it wasn’t embarrassing.

“That’s not what I was trying to say! Shit, this is exactly what I mean.” You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing both Dirk and Dave out of your vision and mind, and exhale, defeated.

Suddenly, there’s a touch at your shoulder. Warm, reassuring. You open your eyes and refocus. It’s Dave, he’s next to you now. He still looks amused, but the sharp edges of his facial features are softer now, more patient.

“Hey,” He says. “I’m listening.”

You let yourself relax with his words, easing up on your mind. It was just Dave. Smug, smart, sexy Dave. Weird, lost, homeless Dave.

“I just feel so out of it sometimes.” You start, sitting up and crossing your legs. “I just get so nervous around people, I can’t act like myself. All I can do is think of what I want to do, what I want to say. Then I actually try to do it and just end up looking like a huge loser.”

You rub at your forearms, suddenly feeling a lot more self-conscious.

“It’s awkward, and uncomfortable. _I’m_ awkward and uncomfortable. I honestly don’t even know how anyone’s even dealt with me until now. Maybe that’s why I’m here, living alone.”

Dave’s brows are pulled downwards but he says nothing.

“And today I met this guy at the supermarket. He knew what to say, too. He knew what to do, he was one step ahead of me and that made my fumbling weirdness even harder to hide. Guess I’m just one big lame-O.”

You put your fingers in the shape of an “o” up to your forehead with a halfhearted grin, but it promptly slips off when you see Dave’s slightly downturned lips. Your tense shoulders drop and you bury yourself in the couch, gaze cast out the window.

The crows are making their daily rounds outside the apartment and a few have stopped, as if eavesdropping on the drama.

“You’re not lame.” Dave says, then hesitates.

You glance at him, lips making this stupid pout that you _know_ makes you look like a pufferfish because you’ve practiced it in the mirror as a joke, and now you can’t stop.

“I mean, shit. You want me to be honest? You totally are.” He shakes his head, his hair catching in the light passing through the window. “But so is everyone. We just show it in different ways. Egbert back at home used to ramble on and on about his personal vendetta against Betty Crocker, and Bro just mass produced ass-muppets whenever he was feeling off. All I did was hole myself in my room and draw on mspaint with a 2005 acer computer mouse.”

He seemed almost reminiscent while speaking, and it reminded you again that he had left things behind to come here, and would one day return to them.

“Sappy shit isn’t my strong suit, (y/n). But even an emotionally stunted dork like me knows that ‘lame shit’ becomes ‘dope as hell’ shit when you’re with the right people. Your friends love you, don’t they?”

He looks to you expectantly and you shy away from the question. Shawna and Tracy, whom you’ve been friends with through thick and thin?  
You recall the scene of them leaving the club together, leaving your apartment together, and something in you grows colder.

“Yeah.” You say before you can hesitate more, “They do.”

Dave stares at you and it’s as if he’s trying to burn a hole into your face. He stares and stares until you wonder if he, for once, doesn’t know what to say.

“Yeah.” He says, after an eternity of silence. “I know Bro does, too.”

The way he says that sticks a lump in your throat, and only now do you notice the phone he had clenched in his hand since you’ve come home.

“You’re not alone. You’ve got your friends.” He says again, now more adamantly. You watch as he brings his hand up and points at his chest. “And you’ve got me. And as a resident ‘hot guy’ and a Strider, I say you’re dope as _fuck.”_

The moment holds for a few seconds as you scrounge your mind for appropriate responses. You want to punch him for being so smug, want to hug him, want to make fun of him for being so damn cheesy.  
Even though you know part of your worries stem from something only you can settle, it feels like some of the weight has been lifted from your chest, and you can finally breathe again.

“Thank you Dave.” You say, a soft smile playing at your mouth. “And you’ve got me, too.”

Dave grins and winks at you, only noticeable from the slight pull of his cheek. “Already knew it, babe.”

Without another word, he gathers the fruits of your grocery venture and wanders into the kitchen. The crows by the window caw loudly and take off now that the show’s over.  
The flapping of their wings catches in the setting sun and throws shadows across your floor and table, drawing your eye to Dave’s phone, left on the table. You almost miss how he’s left it open on messages, almost miss one of his many outgoing, unrecieved texts.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timeausTestified [TT] at 5:31PM--

  
TG: miss u, bro. come home soon.

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TT] at 5:31PM--

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for taking the time to read my chapter of A Stride of Luck. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you did, hit the kudos button and leave me a comment telling me what you think! And remember, my requests are officially open on my tumblr! < https://xbunnybunz.tumblr.com/ > Until next time, I love you all!


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